


Drowning Light

by MundaneMatthew



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2020-04-06 18:23:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19068124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MundaneMatthew/pseuds/MundaneMatthew
Summary: Rumors of the return of the dark lord Voldemort have been rippling through the wizarding community following the tragedy of the Triwizard Tournament. The Daily Prophet is trying to hush it all, whilst others push to get the information out. The roles people thought they were to play are changing and those who have walked the line of neutrality will soon have to choose.





	1. Cold Tomorrows

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! It's been a long time, for sure. I just haven't written in forever but i'm back at it again!  
> This was a patreon request and i'm more than thrilled to get back into writing by writing my favorite gay as all heck ship from my childhood story.  
> Drarry is my not even remotely guilty pleasure.
> 
> Please note there will be slurs towards LGBT+ people involved. I keep them sparse, but just be aware they will be sprinkled in at times.  
> This story does NOT follow canon 100%. I will be using some of it, but changing quite a bit, obviously. So, don't come in here expecting linear story to the canon or anything. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! I appreciate all of you <3

Hot white clouds pouring from hundreds of mouths into the crisp night air paired well with the palpable fear. Noses were red and knees shuddered under thin black robes, the only distinguishing mark between the students were small crests for their respective House.  


Thus far it seemed most Ravenclaw students had given in and headed to their dorms, while scattered few from the others did, Gryffindor, Slytherin and Hufflepuff remained the most in attendance. All for different reasons, of course.  


He was not unlike his fellow Slytherins in his rationalising being there. It had been the same excuse since the first of the events had gone down. What began as a lust for seeing bloodshed, injury and tears from those he had deemed inferior had since changed into a bubbling worry just beneath the surface of his pale moon skin. It threatened to breach the surface, but the cold boy buried it deep with a long exhale. He just needed to get his mind off of this and onto something else, anything else.  


Leaning his head back to stare up at the strangely empty evening sky, Draco Malfoy found himself uttering a little prayer beneath his silver dripped tongue to whoever or whatever would deign to listen to him.  


Murmured voices alongside him were fading to dull buzzing in his ears as he waited, waited for the sparks to fly, cannons to blow and screams to bring him back to reality as Krum inevitably returned as the victor.  


Instead, however, it happened in a far worse manner, with far worse consequences of it.  


What could be described as a whip cracking fiercely into the air deafened the surrounding area and woke each of the sleepy and disinterested students in the stands.  
Initially, he center of the field was clear one moment and the next, two boys came falling into the mud and grass, a shimmering blue trophy toppling some several feet away and all Draco could do was stand and look to the two filthy boys, searching for the mess of black hair, the fiery spring eyes. Nothing else mattered once he did find Harry, not even the sudden screaming. He would lie to himself time and time again later that he was looking in hopes of satisfaction to see he’d lost the entire tournament, to gloat and laugh at the ‘boy wonder’. Just like he’d been lying and excusing for a few years now. He was just being the Malfoy that was required of him, that everyone thought they knew. At home he would sneer about it with his father and laugh alongside him at just how pathetic poor orphan boy was.  


After all, he didn’t give a damn about any of these idiots on either side of him. Not a single one… He couldn’t care. Didn’t know how. Did he?  
He heard the scream leave Cho Chang’s mouth be echoed by Fleur Delacour before his eyes adjusted and the horrors that were sweeping the students on the pitch finally hit him.  


Diggory lay face up in the grass, uniform torn up and dirtied by whatever the maze had contained and aside him, clutching to him in desperation while he bled over his own clothes—was Potter.  


Malfoy stiffened and though he did not join in the visible terror and horrified screams, he still felt the same things, sure enough, but he had long been taught to refrain from showing that to his enemies, and anyone not of his blood status was to be considered an enemy.  


Then the screaming muted out and all he heard was the scrawny Gryffindor down on the field yelling as Dumbledore rushed toward him.  


Diggory wasn’t moving and Harry was in hysterics, with Mad-Eye yanking him up by the arm some minutes later. It was all he could do, stare at the still, limp boy on the ground there. His vision was then obscured as the crowd of people shifted and as a man shrieked out to let him pass- it was the Hufflepuff’s father. The sound coming from his lips, from his throat and chest, it was pure unrestrained pain and anger.  


It must not have dawned on him for those first few minutes, in shock with the rest of the teenagers, but it suddenly sunk in and Draco felt his stomach twist and shudder; Cedric Diggory was dead, he had just been looking at a dead body, for the first time in his life and it had been someone he knew. Perhaps not fondly- no, not fondly. There’d been no intimate connection between he and the older teen, but he saw him frequently enough to have him registered as a regular occurrence at the school. There he laid, pale and blue, bright eyes turned vacant and clouded over. He was alive an hour beforehand and was being cheered on by (obnoxiously loud) Hufflepuff students, waving to his father, to his friends. Now he was gone, off to whatever the hell happened after life was spent.  


The more sobering thought, however, was the words pouring forth from the trauma-soaked boy with dark hair and lightning scar ‘pon his forehead; “He’s back! Voldemort’s back!”  


Beside him he could hear more voices, hushed and terrified whispers and from his left, he was certain someone called to him.  


“Draco? Draco..—"

 

“Draco! Are you listening? Pay attention, boy!”  


Blond hair pushed from his face with a rough hand, Draco looked to his father and his irritated look. Then again, that seemed to be his normal nowadays. Maybe it always had been. He couldn’t recall a time in his life where his father wasn’t just a swirling force of anger. Lately though, it had become far worse. Ever since the Triwizard Tournament had come to its conclusion, Lucius Malfoy had been rattled to his core and it only led to further strain on the family. No, it had been happening before that. He just didn’t want to accept it for what it was. The sixteen-year-old had, for the last year or two, begun to lose that long beaten in faith that he’d held since he was a child. The idolisation had stopped, and his eyes were no longer starry when he looked upon him. To have that veil torn apart left him unsure of many things and that uncertainty was something he hadn’t experienced much of in his life and god damn he hated it.  


Summer vacation had been more or less a complete disaster and Draco did everything he could to be out of the house for the most of it. He accompanied his mother if she left to do even menial and mundane tasks or offered to go do things for her in place of their house elves so long as his father was not home. Being away from the manor was the only time he felt he could breathe as the air inside only became more suffocating the further into his insanity his father slipped. It all left a sour taste in his mouth. Just what his father was up to and what things were bubbling under the surface, Draco did not know and didn’t know if he wanted to. Already shaken from his life’s foundation cracking under pressure, did he really want to know the seedy things that his father and those like him were doing?  


“I’m listening, father. What is it?”  


“Were you listening, you wouldn’t need to ask that. You know I hate repeating myself.”  


“Really? I’d have thought you enjoyed hearing your own voice more.”  


**\--C R A C K—**  


The hot air between the palm of his father’s hand and his pale skin turned fiery in the connection, the force of which threw his head to the side. It took all of his self control to not scream, to be silent and let the fire burn in his gut instead. He knew better than to retort to Lucius with snark and sarcasm in his tone, knew better, but still did it anyways. Maybe he was hoping it would jar the man, bring out the one he had known before. More likely than that, it was his self destructive need to feel anything beyond the numbness instilled in him as a little kid. Was that why he went out of his way to harass fellow peers at school? He scowled, irritated with his train of thought, irritated at himself.  


“Sorry, father.”  


He touched his dingers to the cheek still steaming from being struck and looked from the floor to the back of his father’s head as the man walked away.  


“You _will_ do what I tell you, Draco. This year marks the beginning of important things for us, for all of us and I will not have you ruining what has been worked on in this family for generations just because you’re a coward.”  


He halted, fists shaking at his sides, gritting his jaw. The words his father spoke had always cut deep, he supposed he should be used to the searing front he was given. In most ways he was, but once more that safety net, the veil he’d had clouding his eyes all this time, it had made it easier for him to ignore. Now his skin was raw and the tiniest breeze was hurtful.  


“I.. I will do what you need me to do, father.”  


The two locked gazes and the teenager took the first steps closer to the other, stopping mere feet in front of him. His heart hammered away at his ribs and he detested the crazed look shining inside the older’s eyes. Whatever it was he was going to ask- or rather, tell-- him to do, it was going to be bad. He had no idea just how bad, maybe that was what scared him more.  


His apology, if forced, seemed to do as he’d intended and soothed the anger in his father’s face. The man sighed deeply and touched his fingers to the bridge of his nose and when he spoke again next, his voice was cold once again.  


“Very well. Come with me, there are some people I want you to meet, they’ll help explain your role in everything to come. I expect you to behave properly, do not embarrass me and smear this family’s good name by acting like a child. You understand, don’t you? You are not a little child anymore, Draco, and I won’t treat you as if you were one. Not anymore. Follow me.”  


They walked from the foyer at the front of the house through to the large open-spaced parlor room closer to the back gardens. He briefly glimpsed his mother sitting in the dining room, her head in her hands, but couldn’t stop to check if she was alright. He’d have to try later, once he was done with this business with Lucius.  


Draco wasn’t sure who he was expecting to see as he walked into the room and his father closed and locked the door behind them. Naturally, a house elf sat trembling in the corner, the usual two were there; Severus Snape and his deranged aunt Bellatrix. But this time, with them were several other figures, people he did not recognize. Each stood tall, dark black cloaks with the hoods obscuring their identity to him. Golden masks glinted in the dim lighting of the room, they were in the shape of skulls and the eyes sunk back so much that the human eyes beneath were nothing but tiny beads of sickly dark colors. Far, far from human.  


Without meaning to, he flinched as his father’s hand came down to rest on top of his head. He stiffened, swallowing a lump clawing at the inside of his throat. The scene dug up old memories and though they were happy ones from early childhood years, it caused an aching in his stomach and chest instead. How often he had stood here, his father toting him around with his hand resting so proudly atop of his head, showing off what a ‘bright’ young man his son was. Just what stories had he listened to half-heartedly that spoke of his natural talent and his obvious gifts. Now, he wondered how others had felt hearing it all, only for him to be bested by a dirty-blooded wizard like Harry Potter time and time again.  


His eyes locked onto the floor, incredibly interested in the carpet at his feet. It was as clean as a rug could be, though it had faded over time from its once lush deep red and silver accents to a maroon with pitiful greys. According to his mother, it had once belonged to her mother and grandmother beyond that. Hell, he’d only ever seen photos of its original glory when it had first lay in the parlor.  


It wasn’t until he heard a new voice, new yet also vaguely familiar, start to speak. The man addressed the group in a rough voice.  


“It’s been a long time, Lucius.” He began. “Too long.”  


“Yes, but we are gathered here, now.. from here, we have a lot of ground to make up on. So let’s get on with it.”  


“Malfoys..”  


Draco looked up wide eyed, staring completely through his father and at the man who spoke. It was like déjà vu, hearing that voice and suddenly he could place it- where he’d heard that voice from before. It was Gregory Goyle’s father. He’d spent many days over at his friend’s home during holidays or the days prior to his first year in Hogwarts. While he couldn’t recall much in the terms of tomfoolery with the pair of them, he did hear the gruff _‘Malfoys…’_ groaned out frequently enough. He supposed it wasn’t that much of a shock to learn of the man’s choices in allegiance being to Lord Voldemort. It was only natural for a pureblood family to be part of the Death Eaters, but when he held the innocence of a child, he simply couldn’t have imagined those he cared for being..  


His brain seized up. What were those people he cared for? He knew the word, knew it because he’d seen it, felt it in his own hands. Were they evil? Furthermore, what did that make him?  


Lucius firmly planted his hand on the small of Draco’s back and pushed him forward toward the crowd of strangers.  


“Remember what I told you, Draco. You’ve got a role to play, be a good boy and do what you’re told. Sit down in the center chair. Your moment has come.”  


He found himself in a state of daze as he stumbled forwards, head aching from the pounding in his chest. It took him a few minutes to realize he was hearing his own heart and that only increased how fast it beat. Over the murmurs of those around him, over the voice in his head drenched in terror, it beat hard and it beat strong and the question drifted to his mind once again.  


If **they** were evil, what was Draco?


	2. Empty Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All the summer holidays have come to an end and the excitement sparking the air around the first night & feast of the school year feels.. different. For Draco, it feels like nothing at all. He has too much swirling his head to even make a grasp for that nostalgic, childhood memory.  
> This year has to be different.

Low buzzing drifted down the train cars, occasionally drowned out by a door opening and giving more air to the rambunctiousness that clasped the ones dwelling inside. Like all years, there were new faces who shyly tried to stay wandering between everything only to be shoved into a room not yet full by the old hags who peddled sweets to the children.

Draco had never suffered the awkwardness himself when he was eleven. He’d grown up with several other kids and had friends before the year would even begin. He simply strode onto the train alongside them and they found themselves an empty room to take over.

That first year he had butterflies, a sense of freedom for the first time in his life. Over years it drained away bit by bit. He had his father to thank for that. The man could torment him hundreds of miles away with ease. Mostly all he felt when he was on the train heading for the old castle was a sense of dread.

Idly, his fingers wrapped around his wrist, knuckles hot-white as they clenched tight. It didn’t hurt anymore, the mark on his skin. Just a small burning sensation at this point. Though, whenever he was in that house it seemed to flare up. It sometimes felt like it was an infection boiling beneath the surface of his skin. He could see no issue upon quick glance but still his nerves cried out. He wondered if it was more in his head than anything, like he was causing a placebo effect and just thought it felt hotter, thought it hurt, thought it was anything more than a small scar.

He was quiet on the train, staring out the window at scenery he felt was permanently embedded in his head by now and let his mind wander. His eyes flashed as they approached the bend toward the castle and he caught a glimpse of the Quidditch Pitch. With all the good memories he held there (cheeky as most were), it was somewhat tainted with what had happened the year prior. The maze itself was gone but he still saw it in his mind. Still could hear Amos Diggory screaming, “ _That’s my son!! That’s my boy!!!_ ” while they looked on in horror.

“Bloody Hell, get a grip.” He grunted to himself.

The walk to the carriages and the ride itself, Draco was silent still. He barely paid mind to the conversation that Crabbe was having with Pansy Parkinson next to him, gave a nod or minute hum of acknowledgement if they tried to force him to participate. It wasn’t until they had gathered in the Great Hall for the usual boring mantra from the old geezer Dumbledore that Draco lost the dismissive and passive attitude.

He picked her from the crowd in an instant. Of course he did, she stuck out like a god damned sore thumb. Pink dress smoothed on her plump, short body and a matching pair of shoes, little hat and obnoxious purse.

She reminded him of his great grandmother in all the photos he’d seen of her. If she wore an obscene amount of pink instead of the drab blacks and deep blues and occasional grey, of course. Sat there with her hands delicately folded in her lap, the picture of ‘proper etiquette’. He wanted to roll his eyes but wasn’t sure he could roll them back far enough to express his distaste.

As she stood, rudely interrupting Dumbledore mid sentence, he felt himself suck in a breath of air and hold it, eyes glued to the old wizard and the crotchety witch clearing her dry throat to talk to them all, like she was remotely relatable.

Dumbledore stepped back from the podium, allowing her the floor so she could speak. If it wasn’t clear to the dolts around him that this woman had power beyond professorship, they were doomed to a life of failure and misery. They would be the ones crushed under the heel of those with keen eyes, minds of their own.

Dolores Umbridge delivered a gently spoken, veiled threat all wrapped up like a cute little present with that squeaky voice of hers.

Briefly he looked from her, scanning the sea of black around the room. There they were, the ‘golden trio’, utter pains in his arse. They were glaring up at the pink clad demon. He sat back, clicking his tongue. They knew what it meant just as he did, he could tell by their expressions. They knew that it all meant the Ministry was now interfering with the school and it didn’t take a genius to know how bad it could turn out should a tyrannical government take hold of the education of its future generations.

Naturally he had been told this when his father met with all those other Death Eaters. In that room alone he had seen Goyle, Crabbe, Gibbon and familiar faces of Bellatrix and Fenrir. He detested that man- man wolf? Wolf? Whatever. Others that were present didn’t come off as important enough for him to retain their names. Their gaunt faces told him they were there out of fear.

The teen held a sliver of empathy for them in that regard. Even with all of the distractions he had put for himself, it was near impossible to miss the look on his mother’s face, in her eyes. She was trying to keep them safe, keep him safe above all else. He understood it but resented it at the same time. He found himself angry with his father for not taking up the role of protecting them. Likely, the man thought this _was_ the best thing for his family. But there was still a part of Draco that had him wondering if he was doing it for his own glory. Did the name Malfoy mean so much to him that he would put his wife and son face to face with danger? He couldn’t definitively say yes or no and it was that feeling that brought him to suffocate under resentment.

He’d decided after that meeting, when he watched his mother leave the room to go sob where none could hear or see, that he would try to step up to do it instead. He would do as he was told, orders barked at him from his father he would not reply with sarcasm. He would fulfill his end of things to make father happy, to then make mother okay. He had to, had to believe that there may be good in him, good from her. If he didn’t, he would be relenting to the darker part of him that saw only the bad and if he believed that he was truly just evil, Draco didn’t know what he would do, just that it wouldn’t be good.

The mundane welcome speeches were given and rules were laid out- with Draco eyeing the trio at the Gryffindor table at that bit. Rules meant nothing to them, they did as they pleased most of the time. He scowled, annoyed that he then noted the rules meant nothing to him either. Oh, that thought irritated him more than he should have let it. He wasn’t like them, in any way.

As it always did, food sprung forth from thin air in front of them all, littering the tables and filling almost every nook and cranny with one thing or another to eat. The low murmur that had settled in during the talking had been abandoned to loud fits of laughter, shouting from across the room and the barely audible noise of forks hitting plates and spoons hitting bowls. A few toasts with glasses smacking together reached him and he looked to some older students gathered around the end of the Slytherin table. They looked to be seventh year, and from the comradery he ventured a guess that it was someone’s birthday- this then confirmed when someone produced a small cupcake with a candle in it.

To his left he heard Crabbe complaining about home the past summer vacation, things with her dad weren’t going well and he had begun to take it out on the few friends he had. No surprise when he spoke of having no one to really speak to anymore. Draco himself was too unavailable and even if he were, he doubted he’d have gone. Just because he and the other boy were in the same house and knew one another well enough didn’t mean he was going to go be someone’s shoulder to cry on. And maybe it was just too hard to watch his own life play out through the experiences of others. Only difference was that the pureblood would never speak out about the struggles at home. A true Malfoy, he would continue to portray the stoic outside while he was demolishing everything inside.

By some act of fate, the feast came to its conclusion and spared him from having to either join the conversations around him or brood into his emptied plate. So much noise, so many things happening around him at once. He felt overloaded and it made his head seem like a television on a blank channel, white noise scratching at the walls inside his skull. It made his skin crawl.

He was one of the first to stand and abandon the table to stride out the double doors just behind another Slytherin Prefect. He heard someone shout to him from behind but neglected addressing it in favor of getting to the common rooms as quickly as he could.

At least down toward the dungeons there were fewer students idling around. It was almost entirely empty when he got there, only two other students out, but they were walking in his direction, intending to go somewhere else and once they’d gone, he could finally breathe again.

He slumped against the wall and grasped a fistful of his robes, prying them away from his chest. It felt like the material was choking him, too tight against his skin. In his chest his heart was only just starting to settle again.

His legs began to shake and felt weak and panicked that he may simply collapse at any given second, Draco quickly pushed open the doors and walked inside the Slytherin common room, stealing away inside and sinking onto an armchair close to the fireplace where a pathetic little fire sat. He drew out his wand, mumbled the incantation with disinterest and frustration and it roared to life, lighting up the room and spreading the warmth to the coldest corners.

He needed to get a hold of himself if he hoped to satisfy his father. Not a strand of hair could be out of place. Everyone needed to believe his acts. He knew most would, they weren’t the brightest. Especially his closest friends most of the time. No, he was worried about a select few. A few students that could possibly see beneath his mask and if they did-

The doors swung open then, clattering roughly against the stone walls beside them, jostling him from his thoughts, something he was relieved for if he were being honest.

In walked Crabbe and Goyle with Parkinson tailing them close behind. The two boys were strutting about as they entered the common room. Their egos had slowly been becoming a problem. The pack order that Draco established was wavering some, it seemed. He’d simply need to put them in their places, remind them that they were nothing. Pansy was frustrating but she sat somewhat off to the side, so he paid her no mind most of the time. Her mother had been to his home that summer to have tea with his mother. By that interaction alone, he knew what her father was likely doing.

“Bout time you guys let go of the damn plates.” He greeted with a thinly veiled insult, crossing one leg over the other where he sat. It was a small movement, but it meant many things, one of which was a warning and show of power, status. Even in a room full of pure bloods, he was higher. Superior. His father would never let him bend the knee to another. Instead, Draco had to play political games when he was in public and they didn’t stop just because he went off to school. Here he still had to ensure that the one in power was himself. To be fair, it wasn’t too difficult to do that when your last name was Malfoy. Its reputation laid the groundwork for any of his schemes.

Both lumpy boys sat on the sofa across from Draco, while Pansy settled into an armchair and crossed her ankles- what a proper lady—her little hands folding on her lap. She flashed him a grin from shimmering lips and sat up straighter. Her need for acceptance and praise reminded him of a dog one of his grandparents had. Was she just a dumb bitch that needed orders to function? He wrinkled his nose.

“Well go on then, let’s see it!”

Draco furrowed his brow and uncrossed his leg. He sat forwards, bending to rest his elbows on his knees, fingers steepled together.

“See what?”

“C’mon Draco, you know what we’re talking about.” Goyle countered. “We all got em this summer, didn’t we? Here, we’ll show you ours.”

The two teens thrust their arm out and roughly hauled the sleeves of their jumpers up until their forearms were exposed and there on their skin in cruel black was a skull and a snake intertwining, slipping in and out of the voids where eyes may have once been.

It matched the one on his own forearm.


	3. They're Just Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The numbness he had been feeling from the first night returning has persisted and the young Slytherin has yet to decide if he will fight it off or allow himself to be drenched in the misery he knows is soon to come.

“So now that you-know-who is supposedly back, what do you think’s going to happen to all the dirty blooded apes that run rampant around here?”

Draco was bored and slumped over his textbook, only vaguely paying mind to the professor as she spoke, prattling on about how the stars told her things. Professor Trelawney was definitely out of her mind, like father had said. She seemed more like an escaped mental patient than a high ranking teacher. Though, then again, Dumbledore in his senility was having quite a bad run in hiring Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers lately, he figured it was less surprising to find other areas he had failed.

On the other hand though, it made for an almost free period. No one took it seriously- he’d even heard from a few lesser Slytherin students that Hermione Granger had thrown a fit and stormed out back in third year. Typical of a mud-blood, to lose her head and pull tantrums. She was insufferable and it was to his delight that he found very few classes shared with the damned Gryffindors this year.

Silver tongued and equipped with a razor sharp grin on pale lips, Draco leaned back and away from his textbook to fix Vincent Crabbe with a smug look flashing dangerously in his grey eyes.

“Hogwarts is living up to its name.” He sighed out. “It’ll be a full time zoo, give it a couple more years. There’re already pigs and apes and a plethora of asses now aren’t there?”

The snorts and giggles around him were pleasurable to his ears and the teen looked more than proud of himself for the remark as he crossed one leg over the other and sat back in his chair, comfortably not caring about anything outside of his little group of snickering buffoons.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Malfoy would you care to share with the rest of us why you and your comrades are giggling there in the corner? Or perhaps you would like to read the tea leaves here at the front table and tell us all your riveting story?”

Trelawney’s squeaky voice drifted over the many other sleepy heads in the room to where the boys were enjoying their time happily ignoring the lesson and it took all of his self control to not roll his eyes at her. He really didn’t need any reports back home of his tom-foolery, though and he knew it, thus his slight sigh toward her.

“I can read the leaves just fine, professor.” He muttered, standing up. He heard the snickering continue behind his back and this too required his self control to not turn and smack Goyle in the back of the head.

He approached the small rickety table in the front of the room and picked up the first of the three cups lined up there.

He wrinkled his nose at the stench. The tea leaves were far from pleasant like they often seemed when his mother steeped them in early mornings, before his father was awake and the chaos of a new day really began. He vaguely wondered if the old woman watching him closely let them rot for a bit before inflicting them on the students.

“Alright well, there’s a kind of wave, like, ocean waves, and that’s bloody tree leaf language for peacefulness or something. Then the one on the side there is a moon? Or a regular circle, so I dunno.”

He lifted the second, this time the shapes of the leaves were more clear and concise and it took him only a few moments to figure it out.

“This one is a pyramid and stars, which together mean worship and curiosity. So, whoever the person is, they’re going to meet someone they’ve admired for a while from afar and will strike a new relationship with them- though I can’t tell if it refers to it being a friendship or what.”

The last one was more muddied than the other two and he had to turn it this way and that, let the dim class light shine pitifully inside and even pause to mentally recall what certain sigils meant and he was a lot less confident in his answer.

“The three ringed planet means to stray off a pathway, while the uh.. fallen tree is supposed to mean survival, right? So… it’s predicting some kind of catastrophic event that changes the life of the person being read, but they’ll survive whatever it is. It could be talking more metaphorically though, saying instead that something will soon change the person’s perspective, make them see things in other ways and question what they thought was true and right.”

Turning to look at the timid sheep of a woman, Draco planted both his hands firmly on his hips, waiting for her response. Naturally impatient, he huffed and pushed past her when she produced merely stammers. He didn’t care if he was correct or not, he had done the stupid task given to him and that was enough for him, hopefully for his father as well. He really doubted that Lucius picked apart the reports that went home, especially not for something as frivolous as Divination.

The loud gong of bells tolling end of lesson sent a shudder through the walls of the ancient castle. He felt goosebumps on the back of his neck, hair standing on edge just momentarily. He’d been attending the school for five years and yet had not entirely adjusted to the sound. Loud noises had always jostled him, for as long as he could remember. The Malfoy manor was either crushingly silent or violently loud. Always had been. Perhaps that was why he found comfort when all around him was a low buzzing of conversation, something between the quiet and loud that let him breathe. It still hurt with each inhale, but less so than the cold hands on his small body that came following that unbearable loudness.

Draco shook himself free from the shackles of his recollection and grabbed his books from the desk in a smooth sweeping motion, quickly exiting the room and descending toward the common room. He heard his name from one of his friends but did not look back. God how much he hated the first week back, always being expected to socialise like he missed the other teenagers or something. Every friendship he has was part of that Malfoy façade he had to show. Not one of them was truly important to him and in the end if he never saw any of them again it would barely change how his life was now. He didn’t want to spend time idly conversing with them, especially not this year. He had goals, dark and depraved and not from within his own mind, but they remained still his to do.

He pushed past the meandering students who, likewise, had begun to escape from the confines of class and quickly turned down toward the staircases once more. Sometimes he really didn’t enjoy how far down he had to go to get to bed. Though, he also couldn’t imagine the irritation of climbing a ton of stairs upward to rest either. He couldn’t see himself in any other common room, the Slytherin one was home away from home- it was home, period.

His hand was resting on the railing, cold as the stone always was. Only seconds later it was smothered in the heat of flesh when someone grabbed him firmly by the hand and forced him to stumble his way back up a few of the steps. There, the frigid stone roughed up his back, disheveling his (albeit lazily) tucked in shirt.

He looked up to execute a venomous glare, anger boiling just beneath the surface, much as it always was, only to be faced with a pair of heated and angry green eyes.

“Potter.”

The usually taped up glasses had once more been fixed- no doubt by the mud blood- and his hair had grown longer after summer break. Naturally, it looked like he just climbed out of bed, hair a thick mess of waves and light curls, shaggy like a dog. The thought almost made him smirk. Potter was quite like a mutt, now wasn’t he? Pathetic loyalty to a failing cause, defensive to the weak, headstrong and easily ignited. Completely _untrained_. What would the pup be if he were?

“Malfoy.”

Draco clicked his tongue, cocky little brow raising to the skies. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this time around? Honestly people might begin to think you’re stalking me if you keep this up. Are you a faggot?”

Harry’s jaw clenched, a tell-tale sign of his internal struggle to reign in the anger he felt. Draco wouldn’t let it come to light that he was a similar man, but he very much was. Finally, the other teenager let go of his wrist, but he didn’t move to allow Draco away from the wall.

“… is it true? You and your slime ball friends going around laughing about Diggory? Did you really get together just to dishonor the dead? Tell me, Malfoy! Now!”

The thin pointed tip of the holly wand had suddenly found his throat and dug into his Adam’s apple. The threat was sincere, but even angry, he knew that Harry wouldn’t go through with it. His abhorrent moral compass wouldn’t let him. At most he could half-heartedly jinx him. The threat was possibly the last thing he was thinking of then. His words retelling themselves in his head were of more concern to the blond.

“Why in the hell would I do that?” He scowled, putting his hands against the (horrible clash of colors) Gryffindor jumper that wrapped snugly around Potter’s torso. He shoved, reclaiming his personal, private space. “I wouldn’t stoop to a level that low, Potter. When have I given you the idea I would? Besides...” He brushed tiny dirt particles from his clothes. “No sense in mocking someone who’s dead. Where’s the fun in that?”

Surprise clouded over the anger in his opponent’s face. He knew Harry was thinking over the things he’d said, even if he didn’t want to.

He understood. He hated thinking that Harry was right about anything, that he was seeing things in an incorrect way. Giving an enemy the benefit of the doubt was dangerous. His father had taught him that. He could only trust in himself and his family. That was easier said than done, however. Especially lately.

Draco sighed. “I don’t have time for this. You ought to really properly source your information before you come whinging to me. I’ve never been quiet about what I’m doing if it’s upsetting anyone else. You know that. You knew this was almost guaranteed to be untrue but you still came storming in here. I’m going to leave now, you do whatever it is you pretentious Gryffindors do when you’re not irritating some of us Slytherins.”

“Don’t say that word again.”

He had stepped twice, closing the space Draco had created once again. His move forward demanded the Slytherin to move back and once more that cold touched upon his back.

“What’re you getting on about?”

“Faggot. Don’t say that again.”

“Why? Because you-“

“I mean it, Draco. You never think before you speak and not everyone will ignore what comes out of your mouth.”

Somehow, this veiled threat felt much more real than when he’d had his wand to his neck.

“Alright. Thanks for the advice then, Potter. Can I go now? Or was there other wisdom you wanted to impart on me?”

Harry growled low in his throat and seemed to force himself to step away from Draco, his arms crossing over his chest, hands in tight fists.

“Yeah, whatever. Get out of here.”

Draco exhaled a breath he had held without intention and resumed his descent toward the dungeons and Slytherin common room. He didn’t hear the echoes of the teen following him and found himself a little surprised. Lately when he and Potter had confrontations, they didn’t end quickly or quietly.

Was he disappointed? Not exactly, he needed to avoid any trouble being reported back to his father. For now at least. So what was he feeling? His stomach twisted and he quickly forced all that thought and emotion to another back corner of his mind. It didn’t matter what he was feeling. None of this did.


	4. Beneath the Clouds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One often finds their head in the clouds; if one plays Quidditch, they find all of themselves up in the clouds.

The dungeons always felt much colder in the mornings, when the sun had barely risen to peak above the clouds and the grass was still burdened with dew. It made it nearly impossible to be sluggish though, which was a helpful thing for those who tried to shrug it off to stay in bed longer. For Draco, it reminded him far too much of sleepy mornings back home and he wanted nothing to do with those memories or the feelings attached to them, so he was always quick to rise and get out to start the day.

He walked the somewhat busy hallway with his nose in a book his mother had given to him that past summer, paying little mind to those around him. He never really had to pay attention to where he was going. People simply knew to move out of his way of their own accord and were they to bump into him, they apologized with shaking breaths even if it technically was not their fault.

Today as he walked, he felt himself more aware of others than he would like to admit. Eyes staring him down, soft whispers under their breath, absurdly dramatic steps out of the way to not be touched by him. If he were to give it much more thought than a second, he would come to realize it wasn’t just today that they were acting in such ways. It had been like this since he’d returned. Even on summer holiday, in those private and prestigious circles of ‘friends’ he held, behavior around him was... off.

But Draco Malfoy didn’t want to give it much more thought than a second. He didn’t want to give it much thought at all. Uncomfortable dark things dredged up when he did, and he just wanted to get away from it. Hogwarts, despite his complaining and sneering remarks on the place, was one place he could feel that teasing taste of true freedom. Somewhere to matter, where his reputation was built mostly on his own actions and attitude.

His nose wrinkled at _that_ thought too though. He’d heard such sentimental drivel from Harry so many times now that to think he had the same pattern of thought was irritating. He and that boy were not alike. They were such different people; it was impossible to imagine they could be on the same page. Rather, it was difficult to think it. After all, his father had been clear- he had a role to play and he knew for a fact that his path was damned while Potter…

“Malfoy, there you are. I must speak with you for a moment.”

Draco looked up to find himself face to face with the Head of Slytherin house himself; Severus Snape.

“Uh...” He dog-eared the page he was reading and tossed the book into his bag. “What is it, professor?”

“I’ve been told that there was a little altercation between you and Potter yesterday. Is this true?”

His brows knit. How did he hear about that? Had someone been nearby without him noticing? Damn it. “Well, it is, but there was nothing but words between us. No one threw a punch or jinx, if that’s what was concerning you.”

Snape arched a brow in suspicion, his pale face scrunching into a mixed expression of slight disbelief and doubt and a dismissiveness that told him how little the man truly cared for the subject at hand. He simply had a job to do and Draco didn’t care how genuine or not the man was.

“Are you sure that was all? Draco we can’t have any misbehavior so early in the school year. I truly do not wish to send things home to your father nor do I want any additional work expected on my part to keep your head on your shoulders. Do not force my hand. Understand?”

Part of him wanted to laugh and sneer, the small part of him that was so confident, still believing in himself and his family. He wanted to inform professor Snape just how similar to his father he was. Always concerned about himself, in other people’s business, so callous and emotionally removed from things. Surely, Snape could see the parallels. He wasn’t stupid, but maybe he shared in another similarity with his father and just liked to avoid looking at himself and reflecting on his own thoughts and actions. Denial ran deep in a person and it didn’t seem to matter what side they were on- loyalty could be bent if fear was stronger.

The blond exhaled lightly and gave a nod, curling his fingers tightly around the strap to his bag, turning his knuckles white. “I understand, Sir.”

“Excellent, carry on with your day then, Malfoy.”

‘ _What an insufferable bastard_.’

He shoved his hands roughly into his jeans and continued to walk down the hall, only vaguely catching the echoes of the man’s cold voice finding a new victim and ends of cries for mercy where none would be found.

There really was only one place he would be able to breathe and stop thinking about anything at all. The halls began to warm as he ascended the wandering staircases. Portraits became less murky and more colorful and the quiet hums from downstairs were lost in the buzzing loud conversations while crowds of children and teenagers moved about.

Again- and even in a busy hallway at that- clusters of students avoided being in his way, some voices hushed themselves to be out of his ear and glances back and forth between friends spoke volumes their lips never would. Among other students, non-Slytherin, he had long ago come to expect and get used to this kind of behavior from them. What did he care of a scrawny little Hufflepuff in second year snickered and looked at him as he spoke with his equally stupid little Ravenclaw friend? Gryffindors were the last House he would allow to bother him with their obnoxious attitudes. Especially-

“Malfoy.”

The icey blood in his veins turned to piercing glaciers and ripped him from the inside out, all within the span of maybe ten seconds.

“Two annoying strikes in one day... this isn’t bloody funny.” He exhaled his anger and turned to see the shorter boy striding up to him, cocky little grin on his face. How he could be in such pleasant mood so early in the day would irritate him if he weren’t already. “What do you want, Potter?” He sneered, looking from his dirtied brown boots up to the ghastly maroon of his quidditch uniform.

“Huh? Oh, nothing. Just saying hello before we go in for practice. Relax, not everything’s some kind of attack on you, Draco.”

The blond’s nose wrinkled up in disgust and he gave some steps away from Harry. “As if any of you could attack me. None of you have the gall to even _try_. Because you know you and your wimpy, stupid friends would lose.”

Harry’s jaw clenched, his first sign of irritation that Draco had memorised by now. His grasp on his broomstick made his knuckles pale a little further beneath the leather gloves.

He was glad he could always tell when he struck a nerve. With his head being so cloudy lately though, he didn’t feel the same enjoyment he lusted for. It was diluted, almost.

“Hermione almost broke your nose with one punch back a couple years ago, Malfoy. You did hit your head though, so maybe you’ve got a bit of brain damage up in that little head of yours?”

It was like he was looking into an odd mirror and got to see his own glee when he irritated Potter be reflected back at him when the teen had just done the exact same to him. He felt his own jaw and fists tighten, his brow crease and nose wrinkle up more, snarl on his lip. But it never released words. He had no rebuttal for it. The damned Mudblood had gotten in a good hit one time and her hatred for him didn’t seem to be lessening in the slightest. He could expect another one at any time- and it pissed him off to even think he was at the mercy of _someone like her_.

He spat on the dirt under his feet as they walked and wished beyond measure for the other boy to just.. get away from him. He’d come out here to get away from thinking and that was a plan entirely tarnished now.

“Try not to find yourself in precarious positions like you often seem to do Potter. You can only fuck up so many times before something _serious_ happens. Please don’t swallow the damn snitch while you’re up there.”

Smirk stitched into his lip, he pushed by the other and walked onto the quidditch grounds to meet up with the other Slytherins in the team. The last thing he needed was to walk toward his teammates side by side with bleeding heart Harry Potter.

“Draco! You’re almost late, mate.”

Malfoy glanced up from his grass glaring and found Montague standing with his arms crossed over his chest, blithering sneer on his face. His expression was of annoyance brought at least a little joy to Draco as he met up with the others.

The noises of loud shout-talking overtook the tense silence from before, but even still, he watched the blurred maroon figure approach the other team. Unlike the welcome from his own team players, the rowdy Gryffindors practically mauled the boy when he got there, and he could hear last breaths of their cheering from where he stood.

Professor Hooch began to speak toward the middle of the pitch, going over the rules for possibly the millionth time since he’d been part of the team and Draco found his attention wander: Wander back to the plague-like thoughts that spun endlessly in his head. He didn’t return to focus on the beginning of the practice match until Madam Hooch blew her whistle to begin.

Scrambling onto his broom, Draco Malfoy gave a violent kick to the ground and took off up into the air, eyes hungrily searching for the small golden ball whizzing its way around the players.

Neck barely missing the crushing swing on the bludger, he dove down toward the ground to out fly the second one. He sent a wicked glare toward Crabbe but couldn’t hear his whining apology as he waved his fat arms with vague and wild gestures.

“Oi, Crabbe! Be careful, if you take out your star player, you really don’t stand a chance at all!”

Faster than the snitch he was squinting for, Draco turned his head to find the voice, find the face he already knew would be there.

Potter hovered feet above him, one hand firmly on his broom while the other lay lax at his side. He wore a mixed expression of concern fogged just a bit with amusement. It took a lot of strength on Draco’s part to not roll his eyes. As if the Golden Prince of Gryffindor would give a damn about a Slytherin like himself- especially himself. They’d been at each other’s throats since year one. Though arguably that was primarily on his part, wasn’t it?

The two of them were stagnant there in the air for some few moments, but the flash of gold rushing by caught his attention- and it caught the other seeker’s as well- and the two of them were off into a high speed chase after the snitch.

The wind was vicious against his face, rough blasts of air slicing up through thick blond lashes and into the sea of sun-warmed hair. From the corner of his eye he saw the dark ebony hair flailing wildly in the wind, ever so slightly messier than it was in day-to-day life- he’d wondered if Potter even knew what a brush or comb _was_.

Harry was pulling ahead of him some, leaving Draco with little time for distracted thoughts. He arched downwards towards the pitch itself, heart pounding in his ears louder than the wind ever could. He could smell the grass as he jerked his broom roughly upward. The wind drift from his sudden shift in position pushed behind his broom and demanded he move faster. He was neck and neck with the other seeker now, both throwing hands forward to desperately curl their fingers around the chilly gold little snitch. Victory was there in front of them and they were _starving_ , he would dare to say if they were dogs, saliva would be at the corners of their lips as they pursued the ultimate prize of winning, besting enemies. Even in simply practices like this, there was no shortage of competitiveness among them.

From behind he heard screaming and against his damned will, he instinctively looked back. He couldn’t see the face, but he recognized the House colors in the robes as a player was thrown from their broom following a rough body check and bludger. Harry had apparently done the same because the fiery chase they’d been in slowed to a stall with them both just hovering there and then the boy forced his broom around and took off toward where the other players had congregated round the fallen one.

Draco swore under his breath, watching the snitch flutter up and higher, taking his victory with it. He turned his broom and followed the thick-skulled Gryffindor.

They had gotten there within seconds and Draco could barely see who the injured member was, but he at the very least knew it was a Weasley. Who could blame him for not knowing the difference between the two prankster twins? Honestly, how did their mother do it?

The boy on the ground was half groaning, half sobbing in pain, grasping his side with shaking and bloodied hands. He bore a wound on his cheek and jaw, as well as massive injury to his side from the bludger. Red was staining through the already warm color of his clothes and tainted the grass under him. Skin had been ruptured and violently tore with the force of the bludger hitting him. Their uniforms were not thick and protective, his ribs had only cotton to protect them. Flimsy.

Harry dropped lower until he was on the pitch where Madam Hooch, carelessly tossing his broom aside to rush toward his friend. He apparently knew who it was without being told as he called out for George Weasley.

 Foot touching dirt, Draco let his broom fall down beside him and began walking forward, following Harry only he was greeted with Goyle’s thick arm onto his chest, halting him.

His idiot understudy was already wheezing from laughter and a quick glance up at Goyle he could not that both boys were besides themselves in amusement over the incident.

They were both looking at him, Crabbe wiping his eye with his sleeve as tears from humor were brought forth. They were both waiting for him to join in, give a snarky comeback and laugh in the face of the other team, the other students. Their enemies.

But Draco couldn’t summon the will to laugh and all remarks he could have used were lost to him. His eyes were fixated on the back of Harry’s head as he got to the groaning ginger teen and dropped beside him to give comfort and encouragement. What was so funny about this? Instead of pure satisfaction at the expense of someone else, Draco felt… numb.

“Draco? What’s wrong wit ya? Didja miss when ol’ Goyle here slammed that filthy blood traitor? He almost fell off his broom just with that!”

He blinked, his eyes finally tearing away from Harry to look back at the trio. “Don’t be so god-damned daft. You’re supposed to be good at your position on the team.. Just use the fucking bludgers, don’t nosedive into pathetic territory! This is only practice for crying out loud!”

Goyle’s eyes bulged in his head and the chubby teen took a step back from the blond. “What’s gotten into you, Draco?”

“Bloody hell, Goyle. Those maneuvers were first- and second-year shite. Knock it off!”

Furiously pushing the teens out of his way, Draco stalked down the pitch toward the others still gathered around George, awaiting Madam Pomfrey to arrive or one of the other nurses to come rushing frantically down the pitch in a total panic. He demanded his way past a few lanky Gryffindors to find himself immediately face to face with Harry.

Wide silver eyes stared into heated greens through semi broken glasses. He’d probably stepped on them while wandering round the corridors at night like the fool he tended to be.

“What?” Draco spat out, desperate to hide his insecurity in the situation. He planted his hands on his hips, eyes narrowed at the boy groaning behind the other.

“You… I heard you tell Goyle to piss off… why? Why are you… Look, nevermind, get his other arm, we’ll walk him to the infirmary. Ok?”

Potter didn’t wait for him to respond, instead choosing to turn and kneel down to George and slip his large arm over his own twiggy shoulders, looking up expectantly at the Slytherin.

“Well if you want to help, c’mon then. Otherwise, go back to your friends.”

Who’s heart was beating hard in his ears, making vibrations turn his head fuzzy?

One step forward, then two.. he walked around to the opposite side of Harry and knelt, taking George’s other arm.

Honestly, he expected complaint from the Weasley to have him be there at all, let alone be helping him up following an injury. Yet, all he did was grunt and wince while they hauled him to his feet and bore his weight on their shoulders.

The slow walk off the pitch and toward the castle grounds was mostly soft panting from the two lanky boys hauling the taller one step by tiny, irritatingly slow, step.

“Draco?”

He couldn’t look over to see Harry when he spoke, only the red and gold embroidered patch on the arm of George’s uniform.

“What is it, Potter?”

“After we get George to the infirmary and make sure he’s alright, we need to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just guys being guys, dudes being dudes, playing sporty bois. 
> 
> Another month of patreon and another chapter.  
> This one took forever, this month was a bit rough.  
> Next one will be out probably in the next weekish, i'm excited to get to what's next ;)
> 
> If you would like to become a patron (i'd lov u), my patreon is https://www.patreon.com/user?u=11849296


	5. Stoking the Embers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confrontation is becoming a habitual part of his routine. Does he hate it? Draco hasn't a clue.

The air was stiff and stuffy, much like hospitals he had gone through plenty of times as a child. Old relatives growing ill, his own mother panicking when he had his first nosebleed, the smell was the same in almost all of them. Clean, but too clean. Void of anything that would tell you a human had actually been there.

Madam Pomfrey had been sitting at her desk flipping idly through the thick pages of a book likely twice as old as she was. When the boys slammed the two front doors of the infirmary open, the poor woman shrieked and the book toppled to the cobblestone floor with a thud and a cloud of dust escaping from the pages.

She had stood there for some few minutes staring at them before she waddled over to the distressed teen and two others. It took Draco all but two seconds to understand why she had stalled, stunned at her sight. He was helping another student, a _Gryffindor_ to the infirmary. It was as rare as a whomping willow not destroying everything within 50 feet of it, he supposed. Most times anything he touched ended the same, broken and ruined so he supposed the analogy wasn’t exactly far off.

George was a groaning mess as the three struggled together to get him onto the bed, but they managed. He tried to curl up into a ball but Pomfrey lightly brought a rolled up issue of The Dailey Prophet to the side of his head with a light huff and despite the situation, all three boys laughed. At least, until George cried out in pain and dropped his head back onto his pillow with a shaking sigh.

“As much as I appreciate an audience boys, you can leave now. I’ll have him back to tip top shape before long. Go on and let McGonagall know he’ll be alright.”

There it was, his moment for escape; Draco turned on his heel at the dismissal and made a break for the double doored entryway.

It seemed Harry had been well aware of his thought process, because the moment he moved, the Gryffindor boy was on his tail and Draco had barely made it out of the door before he was shoved into the wall and gripped hard by the other teen.

“Just what the hell was that about?”

Draco sighed. “You’re going to have to get specific if you want any sort of helpful answers.”

“Why were you acting like you give a damn out there on the pitch? You’ve spent a vast majority of your time in this school making fun of the Weasley family, so why were you suddenly playing being concerned for one of them when your teammate- as usual- cheated and hurt him?”

He let his silver eyes be lidded in the briefest expression of annoyance, but had no rebuttal for the tongue in cheek mention of the low moral guideline the Slytherin team had. He let his shoulders rise up and then fall and nudged Harry’s arms off his own.

“Let’s take this conversation somewhere more private, you dolt. C’mon, the classrooms on this floor are almost always empty by this point in the day. We can use one of them.”

Without waiting for a response he began to walk down the hall, listening for any small classes still in session. Most students up here were taking extra studies about magic and medicine and their numbers were quite low, making it pointless to take up a full sized classroom when it was a handful of students and then one of the infirmary nurses teaching.

The third door down was silent and the knob held some dust particles as his hand grasped it and twisted the groaning thing to push the door open and allow him entry. As he walked inside, the candles around the room magically lit up and illuminated the place. Dusty desks and chairs lined up in rows of three stood in the center of the room, with a large desk that belonged to the would-be professor sat at the head of the room, old papers and dried up inkwells strewn about its surface.

He made a face but entered the room. There wasn’t time to be fussy about his surroundings especially with Harry hot on his heels. He hadn’t really heard his footsteps when he inevitably had chosen to follow him, but had had a feeling he wouldn’t say no and of course it pleased him to be right. Something in that boy made it hard to refuse what he thought were signs of salvation. It made Draco wonder if he truly thought of himself as the Chosen One and saw Draco as someone in need of saving. He prayed it wasn’t so. The last thing he needed was Harry to look at him with the same look of pity and buried hatred that everyone else shot him. He didn’t need Potter’s help. He didn’t need anyone.

Harry pushed the door firmly closed behind himself and stood a few feet from it, almost guarding it as if he expected Draco to make a run for it again like back in the infirmary. He had no intention of doing so, considering it had been his idea to come to this more secluded area in the first place, but supposed he couldn’t exactly blame him for thinking so- his past track record of fleeing from situations wasn’t the best.

For an agonizingly long minute the pair of them stared at each other, neither willing to move nor speak first. Draco knew his own stubbornness rivalled that of Harry, but he also knew his pride was much taller and eventually the other teen relented.

“So? Out with it. What game are you playing at, pretending to be nice to anyone outside of your little circle?”

He bit back a sneer, swallowed the lump in his throat.

“I’m not playing any game, Potter. You ever stop to think that maybe my priorities shifted between now and before? No, of course not. See, I’m not the only one who has a circle. Don’t think we all don’t notice the looks you give to any Slytherin walking by. I haven’t seen you out there trying to make friends with any of them, you know.”

He watched the look of irritation sober up behind the taped up glasses. Had he said something that hit a little too close to the mark?

“Alright. So you’re not playing a game. Assuming you mean that and that your priorities _are_ changing.. Why?”

Hesitation must have shown up before he even recognized it in himself, because Harry folded his arms across his chest and gave a long sigh.

“Look, I really don’t have time for this stuff, Draco.” He relinquished his guard-dog position in front of the door. “I have to meet Hermione and-“

“Just take my word at face value for now, alright? I’ve just.. maybe I’ve just decided to be less hostile. It takes a lot out of me to be so angry all the time, so let’s leave it for now at me just wanting to be more energetic for shit I care for. Okay?”

“Sure, yeah, whatever.”

Draco shifted his bag over his shoulder and headed for the door and this time Harry made no attempt to stop him, but instead he stopped himself once he was partly through the doorway.

“By the way, you and _your circle_ might want to avoid sitting in the second hallway off of Ravenclaw tower when you do your little Goonies meeting tonight. Umbridge believes there’s some scheming going on there late at night. If she catches you, it’s not going to go well.”

With that said, he let his shoulders hunch and continued his walk out of the classroom, leaving Potter behind him to believe him or not, it was no skin off his nose if he decided to risk it. He likely would, he imagined, the way that the trio of Gryffindors often seemed to act as though the rules didn’t really apply to them. Sure, McGonagall was harsh and strict on them when they were caught, but it seemed like most anyone else would look the other way just for the lions’ pride. It was absurd. Certainly no other house got away with the same type of shenanigans..

_They just got away with cheating and hurting others in Quidditch._

Draco furrowed his brow and tightened his grip on his bag strap, ignoring the slight popping sounds from his whitening knuckles. Comparing and contrasting himself with Potter had always been easy, but he felt he was losing that now and it was driving him mad.

Was there a part of him that hoped the golden boy and his friends ignored his warning and went out anyways, got caught and faced some serious punishment? Of course. Regardless of his shifting perspective, he was still invested in gaining amusement out of messing with those he considered his enemy (of sorts).


	6. Curiosity Kills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breaking the rules is common. Breaking them while using the tactics of an enemy.. isn't.   
> How much of a Gryffindor can a Slytherin be?

The quiet of the castle at night was unlike any other. Draco was used to silence in sleepy mornings, but not of the deafening nothing that wafted through the hallways when the sun had disappeared, and exhausted students fell into bed. Usually, he was one of them. In fact, he would much rather that he remain that way and never experience what true emptiness and the feeling of being so terribly small ever in his life. He did wonder which was a more odd thing; being awake late at night when the rest of the world slumbered or a Slytherin in the restricted section of the library (after dark or not).

Finally he located the last book he’d been after; an old tome with questionable binding and pages tinted an awful shade of green. Its title was in runes and the author’s name was so faded it was nigh impossible to read it, but he hadn’t been looking for the bloke who wrote it. He couldn’t care less about that, it was the contents he needed.

Stuffing the book with its companions into his bag, Draco spun on his heel and marched toward the door. He didn’t get more than a foot outside of the row of shelves before he heard the shuffling and under-breath complaining of the caretaker Filch and low and behold, a moment later he saw the mangy cat of his prowling through the doorway.

Quickly jerking back into the row he’d been in, he cursed the entirety of the school and pressed his back into the exhausted wood shelving, eyes closing. He had to be painfully meticulous in his escape now instead of his previously assumed casual stroll back to the common room. If he was discovered, sure he could count on Professor Snape to get Filch off his arse but then the man himself would be chewing him out about breaking rules and getting himself into trouble- that and a letter home was almost guaranteed and he was trying to absolutely avoid that if it could be helped.

Filch’s growling and whining under his breath got closer and he knew the cat would be a few paces ahead. Eyes snapped open and he made a quick dash to the edge of the row and around it to the next as the old man’s back disappeared while he and his ‘assistant’ rounded to the area he had just been in.

Heart thudding heavy in his chest and scratching his throat in its panic, it was difficult to think straight. Fear was drenching his skin but underneath it in his veins was anger. He wasn’t afraid of Filch nor Snape. It all came back to being petrified of his father. Even when he was so far away, doing something that didn’t involve the man in the slightest, he was still managing to control him. It made him irate and were he not trying to avoid detection he may’ve thrown his fist into the nearest shelving unit to release some of the rage. Not that it would help. Nothing ever did.

The cat meowled on the other side and raised bumps along both of his arms. She sounded right in his ear, but he couldn’t see her.

“Someone there, Mrs. Norris? What naughty little brat is in for it this time?”

The glee in Filch’s voice made Draco nauseous. He quickly looked around him, desperately at the door and then came a thought the Slytherin swore to himself to take to the grave- What would Potter and his lackies do in a situation like this? They were always wriggling out of trouble last minute it seemed.

His eyes landed on a small pile of books collecting dust near his feet, left forgotten and uncared for for who knew how long. Jutting forward, he grasped the one on the top and threw the damned thing down into a nearby row on the opposite side of the room. It hit the ground hard and breathed clouds of dust and dirt from where it landed.

“WHOSE IN ‘ERE!!” The man screeched out from the other side.

The shuffling of his feet signalled his one and only chance at getting out and getting away with breaking the rules. He made a run for it, praying to whoever might be listening that he make it.

Divine intervention or just plain dumb luck was on his shoulders tonight. He passed through the open door and from there it was a fast run through the aisles of the regular library and out through that door as well.

Once he was in the hallway, Draco let himself stop the running and slow to walking, hand laid on his chest, fingers clutching his robes firmly. The rush of it all was setting in and it made his breath hitch there in his throat. He broke rules plenty of times, why was it so exciting now?

Quickly he headed down the stairs and toward the bottom dungeons where the common room lay awaiting his arrival. None of the others would be awake, leaving him the privacy he needed to get reading.

Perhaps the early divine intervention had rescinded its grace to him; While he got down the many staircases without any disturbance, he was feet away from the door when he walked into…

Nothing?

What felt like a wall simply appeared in his path and he toppled over from the impact, books scattering out of his bag, but those were most definitely the last thing he was concerned about as he rubbed his head and pushed hair from his face.

The ‘wall’ in front of him emitted a grunt and a heavy thud echoed in Draco’s also ringing ears and a moment later he saw two legs stick out from thin air.

He panicked. Had he hit his head that hard to give himself vivid hallucinations?

No, certainly not. Not even in his most deranged lunacy, he was sure he would _never_ hallucinate Harry god damn Potter barging into his life (again)- in the middle of the night- in the dungeons.

“Potter what the f-“

Harry appeared fully in front of him, scraggly hair and all, seeming out of breath. He struggled to his feet and without saying a word, grabbed the books from the floor and thrust them into Draco’s arms.

“How did you-“

Harry’s arms came up under his own and he was yanked up to his feet with another grunt from the boy and only then when they were both upright, did he speak.

“I came down here to thank you… You were actually telling the truth about Umbridge and helped us for once. But you weren’t in any of your usual hideaways and now Snape is coming and I can’t afford to get caught so- Thanks for the tip, see you around.”

Draco’s heart shuddered and reflexes jerked to life, his hand grasping the dark haired teen by the arm, fierce and tight grip. At the same time, his eyes shot around the corridor, looking for somewhere- anywhere- to hide. But this was the dungeons and while the potions classroom was down there, it was much foo far to run to for cover which left the common room, though he wasn’t sure they’d make that either.

“I can’t get caught too you blithering idiot! How did you hide yourself like that? You’re not leaving me out here to fall into mundane detentions while you get away with your.. your.. everything!”

“You’re out here of your own accord I’m not responsible for you breaking rules!” Harry countered.

Down the hall he heard the faint clacking of black shoe to rocky terrain which only picked up pace with the noise both teens were making.

“Look, either we both get to hide, or we’re both getting caught. Better pick fast, Potter.”

Harry groaned and the irritation on his face served only to make Draco’s lips quiver, so tempted to smirk but denying himself that in worry it would land him entirely abandoned and caught as consequence for taunting the boy.

“Fine, fine, just…” He sighed and stepped toward him, closing every inch of the space that they had between them. “Just do as I say. Move when I move but do it careful, don’t make any noise. Got it? Trust me.”

Following a nod from Draco, Harry grasped what to the Slytherin looked to be thin air and threw his arms up. Silver eyes closed to blink just for one second and when they reopened he could see what seemed to be a translucent cloak, a blanket perhaps. It had soft designs and was warm against his back and shoulders. Harry stood statue still in front of him and it took a lot out of Draco to stop holding his breath and simply let the hot air slip down against the back of the Gryffindor’s neck. They were close, uncomfortably so and it bothered Draco in ways he didn’t quite understand.

But he had no time to question their being in such close quarters because his eyes caught movement at the end of the hall. A lit wand rounded the corner first before the silhouette and finally the real man behind the shadows on the wall appeared.

Snape was a menacing sight to any student. His cloak billowed around and behind him with cold air that sucked all softness from those he passed. Fear was his weapon and the school was ripe with it when it came to dealing with the Head of Slytherin house. Even the Slytherins themselves did what they could to avoid him and when I contact with him, to do everything possible to appease him.

He strutted forwards, scanning the hall with intense dark eyes and a deep (rumored to be permanent) scowl ‘pon his lips.

The closer he got to the pair, the more violently loud Draco’s heart was screaming as it clawed its way toward his lips. He swallowed twice in effort to rid himself of the lump, tight knot of fear, that was clogging his airways. His eyes stayed glued on the man and as he stepped in front of them, Draco was almost positive that Snape was looking at them, saw the pathetic excuse for a coverup…

The potions and dungeon master pursed his lips, let out a sigh of pure irritation and walked away to continue his search down the hall.

Draco didn’t dare exhale a held breath until the sound of the shoes faded and hushed voices drifted down. He recognized one as Filch. The two of them were certainly intent on their patrols of the halls tonight. Just what kind of ruckus had Snape so involved? Filch, he got, the man was pitiful and vindictive toward the students, probably in some pathetic way to feel better about himself. Snape though, he didn’t involve himself in pettiness like students wandering the halls. Did he know Draco was doing it and that was why? He cursed mentally, only able to hope he wasn’t right.

Leaning his head down slightly, he whispered into Harry’s ear, “They’re just going to patrol the halls and stairs around here for the rest of the night.”

The teen scoffed, muffling it with his own sleeve. “What do you expect us to do then, genius?”

“The common room is right there.”

“Are you mad? I can’t go in there!”

“Well we’re not standing here all night either.” He whispered, anxiety over being caught beginning to warp into paranoia. “Trust me.”

Harry took a step forward when he had his own words thrown back into his face and Draco mimicked. Each step, they stopped, listened for the continued conversation or footsteps, perhaps a meow or two as well. Each time it remained silent, they stepped again. Inch by inch they moved, held breaths, heart tremors. Until the door to the commons lay before them. Or rather, the bland and cold stone brick wall lay before them.

They stood there in hush, afraid to speak should the two watchdogs hear even a snippet. When he was confident enough, Draco spoke the password and the rocks begrudgingly began shifting out of their way. The grinding of stone to stone was a low rumble, but it was enough to worry Draco, so he shoved the other forward; He thrust the golden Gryffindor boy into the den of snakes.

The cloak slid off their heads and Harry made no move to grab it for the first few moments as they stood there out of breath. He was trying to regain his footing in a foreign space and was taking in the décor and layout of what likely to him was the enemy’s homestead.

Draco moved first, dragging the other teen by the sleeve to a large leather couch a few feet from a low-burning fireplace. He made him sit and then dropped down next to him, watching dull embers spit a little in desperation to keep alight.

“What exactly were you doing out in the hallways tonight? Are you alright?”

Draco looked to him, brow raised. “Why do you give a damn what I was doing? And don’t patronize me with false concern for me, it’s pointless.”

“Like I said, you weren’t in any of your usual places and I know you’re a creature of habit, so it’s off to see you do something that steps out of the box you’re usually putting yourself into.”

He allowed the smirk to get its time in the light, glossed lips pulling back to flash little canines before he let out a low laugh. “You think you know me so well, don’t you?” It wasn’t really a question and if it was, it was certainly rhetorical. He stood up and looked to the stairs leading into the dormitories “Look, you can sleep here, just drag a blanket from the closet over there. Most of the Slytherins are slow as shit in the morning, you’ll be able to just get up and slip out without any of them really noticing. But if they do, you don’t say a damned word about my part in it. I didn’t help you get in here, got it Golden boy?”

Thick black lashes swept the upper cheek of Harry’s face, slight surprise etching itself in his expression. The teenager was silent for a few minutes, thinking, about what, Draco didn’t know nor care. At least, he told himself that.

“Draco, _what were you doing_?”

Draco halted in stride and put his fingers to his temple, drew them roughly over briefly closed eyes and then pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Just… assume I was up to evil shit, like you always believe I am. Go to sleep, Potter.”

The conversation was ended then, with Draco ascending the staircase and disappearing behind the door at the top, but Harry’s quiet voice continued to swirl in the back of his mind even as he dropped into his bed and exhaled into the warm night air.

‘ _Are you alright_?’

What would he have answered had he taken the concern as truth.

“No.” He gasped out, rolling to face one of the walls. He tucked his body tight and buried his face into his pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer chapter because i'm a mess of a bean and was late for July's addition.  
> Going to try and get the next one posted not just on time, but earlier than like.. the end of the month x'D
> 
> Thank you so so much to everyone who has read! I'm rusty but think i'm getting back into it well enough.


	7. Hopeless Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That House is ever so prideful. They hold themselves to high expectations, wanting to be nothing but the best they can. Their honor depends on it.  
> Which House exactly?   
> Was it ever just one?

Those soft, calm and silent mornings that he had become accustomed to were far from his reach as he woke the next day. Blond lashes grazed his cheek and as he sat up to rub his blurry vision clean, it was then that the panic struck him.

Draco tore off his sheets and scrambled out of his bed, stumbling over his discarded clothes from the night before as he raced for the doorway. Though he was in urgency, the teen forced back that anxiety and slowed, being careful and quiet while he opened the door to the dormitories and slipped out to the top of the staircase.

Descending with what he hoped were hushed steps, he found footing on the cool dungeon floor in mere seconds and rounded the corner to the open space of the common room. There, on the sofa where he’d left him last night, was Potter.

He was slumped over a cushion he’d snagged from the other sofa across from him, with his glasses set on the floor beside him. Snores and light grunts came from parted lips and his unruly hair was as it always was- a ridiculous mess of thick black curls and waves. His cloak was bundled up beneath his head and the cushion to give him a better mock pillow, though the part of his arm that was covered by a corner of it was nowhere to be seen and slightly unsettling.

He knelt next to him, frowning. He rarely saw him look relaxed- not entirely anyways. He was always thinking on something, stressing from some burden Draco could never really know, worrying about things the young Slytherin couldn’t imagine.

Draco grasped him by the shoulder and shook him firmly, drawing out another of the light grunts as dreams were whisked away back into the void in his head and consciousness returned.

Harry’s green eyes stared across at him, still much in sleepy state, for several minutes before he seemed to actually register what was going on around him. Particularly, where he was and who was right in front of him.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes in the same desperation that Draco had had himself. After a moment of fumbling and Draco’s help, he had his crooked glasses on his face and looked to be more coherent, though still some bit perturbed. Clearly, he wasn’t a morning person.

“Draco..? Er.. Good morning.”

“C’mon, get up.” He replied, hand sliding down from Harry’s shoulder to his elbow and then wrist. “You have to be out of here before anyone notices.”

Groggy, Harry allowed him to pull him up off the sofa to his feet. Draco swept down quick to grab the cloak as it fell to the floor and pushed it into Harry’s arms. He had to admit it was kind of funny to see him just stood there, only somewhat awake. He was so quiet and obedient; like a puppy worn out after too much play.

Shaking his train off the rails of that thought, Draco walked Harry to the door and once there, turned back to face him, almost disappointed that he seemed more alert after moving some.

“Remember, no one knows you were here.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just who do you think I am going to tell anyways? I’m not going to march around proclaiming that I was in the Slytherin common room or anything.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Don’t act as if I’m a moron. I know you tell your two other pains in the ass pretty much anything and everything you do. I relent and know they’ll be told, however, make sure that it’s just you three. ONLY. Understand?”

“You know me pretty well, huh?”

Cocky grin danced on the Gyffindor’s lips and gods how much he wanted to wipe it off his damn face. Harry always knew what buttons to push even when he was completely unaware he was pushing them.

Draco sighed. “Potter..”

“I understand, ok? Don’t worry Draco. I meant what I’d said… You know me enough to get that I’m going to tell Ron and Hermione. But I won’t tell anyone else, I swear. You can trust that.”

His lips pursed and he let a heated sigh pass through his teeth, into the cool morning air. “I never trust my enemies.”

“You know, I’ve never said we’re enemies.”

Draco blinked, taken aback. His voice failed him when he opened his mouth to respond, but it seemed Harry wasn’t ready to mock. He simply pulled the cloak up and around his shoulder, pushed the door open and disappeared (quite literally) out into the corridor.

He stood there alone for some several minutes, hand limp at his side, though his fingers still tingled from the soft cotton they had held. It almost felt like he was getting tiny electric shocks, it made his hair stand on end.

The commotion of other students waking up in the dormitories brought him back to the present and out of his whirlpool of thought, saving him from driving himself mad with questions he needed to ask himself.

He spun on his heel and made his way back up the stairs to change; today robes were to be worn and though he often disliked the way they seemed to catch on every tiny corner, he was glad to not have to think of what to put on, his mind was much too frazzled at the moment to bother considering fashion.

Sunbeams struck through the dusty glass windows of the main floor hallway, tricking him into foolishly believing that autumn was still alive and flourishing. But as he stepped out into the courtyard between buildings, his feet crushed fresh powder snow under boot heel and a wind whipped against his cheeks that almost seemed to be a promise (or threat) of cold winter yet to come. Time had passed him by without his notice, he supposed. Though, he wasn’t one to make note of the weather most days. His mind _had_ been occupied lately then again.

Two first years raced by him, screaming out at the tops of their lungs about the snow’s arrival and he found he lacked the normal apathy and annoyance toward them for their excitement. He knew it was only a matter of time spent trudging through the damned stuff before the two were complaining like the rest of them. Unless they were some kind of heathens that enjoyed it anyways.

Hunching over and drawing his cloak tighter to his skin, he quickened his pace and headed down the steep path that would eventually wind around to bring him to the building he needed. Divination so early in the morning was a task and a half to deal with for any student, he reckoned. He didn’t hate it per se, but he simply couldn’t find much use in staring down at tea leaves to maybe predict future events. He needed to focus on what was actually happening and happening in the present.

 Familiar voices wafted in from the corridors as he got out of the cold clutches of the wind and was able to release his hold on his cloak. He noted one to be Crabbe and grimaced just for a second of grace before he headed down towards the source of the conversation.

“Draco!”

He slid a hand from his pocket and raised it in greeting as he approached the small group of Slytherin boys leaning on the walls. Goyle stood there with his lopsided grin as always, next to Crabbe and Marcus stood with arms crossed, clearly only vaguely listening to the others prattle on. A newcomer to the merry band of bullies however, was one Blaise Zabini. The two of them had talked from time to time, given they were joined in house and demeanors, but he didn’t consider him a friend, per se. Though that could be said about anyone he hung around with, so it really didn’t have much meaning whether he called the teen friend or not. Still, he was surprised to find him there that morning.

“What’s going on, did Dumbledore finally get sacked while I was asleep?”

“Haha, no. We’d wake you up from your sleep for that one, sleeping beauty.”

Draco rolled his eyes at Blaise and folded his arms across his chest. “Right. Then what is it?”

“This dipshit first year left her bag by the door to the potions room, so naturally we took it and threw all the books into the toilets in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. They’re completely ruined and she’s in talking with Snape now, trying to explain why she doesn’t have her textbook or her parchment with yesterday’s homework and he’s not believing a damn bit of it. She’s already lost Gryffindor sixty house points. He’s really in a bad mood this morning.”

His eyes rolled without his thought behind them and he wrinkled his nose in distaste. “That’s what all the excitement over here is about?”

“Well er… yeah.” Goyle shifted awkwardly. “We figured you’d find it funny too. It’s only been a couple months into the school year and Gryffindor is down so many points they’re in last.”

“Well that’s just the thing, isn’t it Goyle. We’re only a couple of months into the school year. None of the point loss really matters until we’re closer to the end of the year. They can easily make those points back up if they win literally any Quidditch game. And why are we finding amusement over some pathetic little first year getting in trouble? Are you seriously expecting me to pat you on the back for harassing an eleven-year-old, Goyle? Really? I told you last year it’s stupid and this year it’s even more moronic.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets and shouldered his way by the other teens. “Don’t bother me for your childish antics, I have much better ways to spend my time.”

“What the hell is your problem, Draco?”

Foot halted with heel up, mid step, he turned to look at Marcus. The sneer on his face was one Draco could mimic and outdo any day, but he had no want to play one-up with the guy.

“What ever do you mean, Marcus?”

“You’ve been acting all sorts of weird since we got back to Hogwarts. You don’t sit with us much anymore, you like never get into the same things we always did. Now you’re defending a Weasley and some nobody first year Gryffindor? What exactly is up with you?”

The blond clicked his tongue and let his hands curl into light fists at his sides. He had better things to do with his time, such as reading the books he’d nabbed the night before, but there was a reason he was in Slytherin. Pride, ego, the need to best others. His honor bared its fangs as anger rose up in his chest. To be talked to in such a condescending manner.. how dare this gangly bastard even so much as _try_ to dethrone him. His reputation wasn’t allowed to wane, lest his father think something was wrong. If Marcus wanted to challenge him or even if he just wanted a reaction, he was getting it.

“In case you haven’t thought about it with the two functioning brain cells left in your head, we’re more than halfway through our schooling. Which means now more than ever, it helps to pay just a little attention to your grades, Marcus. Some of us don’t want to keep repeating their last year for the rest of their lives. Or do you plan on living with dear old mum and dad until you’re old enough to be the new Flying instructor after Madam Hooch finally bites the dust?”

He could hear the knuckles pop in Flint’s fingers as he balled them up into tight and angry fists. Every word out of his mouth had stung and the oaf-headed boy didn’t know how to reign in his feelings and keep his expression blank. No, he was like an open book for everyone else to read as they pleased. It almost produced a laugh from Draco.

“Angry are we? Consider that the next time you decide to annoy me with this kind of absolute shit.”

“Draco?”

His eyes lidded in annoyance, nostrils flaring as he passed a hot breath out through them in attempt to hold off on just screaming at the others.

“What?”

The fist held tight at Marcus’ side moved a lot faster than he would have thought possible from the block-headed teenager. Knuckles connected with his jaw, sharp family ring tearing open the flesh of his cheek as it flew by, narrowly missing his nose.

Draco stumbled back several steps, hit the wall and slumped against it in dizziness and utter shock. Slowly, he raised his hand to his face, pale fingers coming down from it drenched in warm blood. His tongue slipped out along his lip, a wince left him without permission and all that mental energy spent keeping his temper in check was so easily forgotten.

He pushed himself from the wall and made up the distance between he and Marcus with a few fast steps, giving a full swing to his returning punch. Though he was shorter than his enemy, Draco didn’t need to worry about it- he punched upward and he punched hard, knocking his fist into the boy’s lower jaw with a loud crack.

Marcus howled in pain and blood leaked down from his lips as his teeth connected with his tongue and bit hard out of reaction to the hit.

Both teens stood facing each other in a long, breath-held minute.

“You know, I’d rather fuck up my grades sometimes, hell, even stay at home for my entire life, than be the son of a **coward**. Imagine thinking you’re so god damn important and better than everyone else when you’re the son of a man who tucked tail and ran away the minute he got the chance to. Your blood may be pure, but it is yellow, Malfoy. Tell me, you gonna cry for daddy when the Dark Lord comes to wipe your disgraceful family off the face of the earth?”

Draco started to laugh. It wasn’t funny in the slightest, but here he was losing his cool over it and throwing off Marcus from his self-made new pedestal. He wrapped his arm around his middle and let himself continue to laugh and once the fists of his enemy had dropped in complete confusion and discomfort, he slammed his entire body into him and drove him onto the floor.

He straddled his chest and brought both shaking fists down into his face, ignoring the sting of pain when bone struck bone and flesh split open against flesh. There was no reservation as Draco pummeled the Slytherin senior with fists hot in rage. Pathetic flails from Marcus’ arms were given to get him to stop, but they were left grasping at air as he leaned down over his victim. His breath was hot against already searing skin, but he made damn sure that his added heat was not misconstrued as anything but threatening by grasping a fistful of his hair and slamming his head back firmly.

“Go ahead and insult my father, my family, I honestly couldn’t care less. But **never** equate me with being a coward. You don’t know a damn thing about me, Flint. You know only what I choose to let you in on and trust me, that’s such a tiny sliver. You don’t know me, but I know you, you’re a stupidly easy person to read. And if you ever call me coward again, I’ll put an end to your shitty career in Hogwarts specifically so you _can_ sit at home with mummy and daddy.”

Drawing back, he spat in his face and shoved his head down as he staggered to his feet. He shot the other two a glare that conveyed the warning of leaving him be and started off down the hall with shaking fists being stowed up inside his cloak sleeves as if the coolness of the material would settle him. It didn’t, but they didn’t need to know that.

He needed to get to History of Magic, but by now he was feeling less inclined to follow through. Instead, he began to wonder if he could get back down to the common room without being caught by a teacher- rather, without being caught by any teacher that’d actually punish him.

In his own thoughts far too much, like he was all the time lately it seemed, Draco didn’t pay mind to the sounds around and behind him and was oblivious to Marcus getting to his feet and storming down after him like a predator to an unknowing prey. He had waited for a moment of weakness to exploit and even if it was a cheap tactic, it was far from beneath the Slytherin to go for the kill regardless.

“Stupefy!!”

The scream froze Draco to the spot, thunderous heart in his ears and throat, trembling harder with each painful beat. Yet, there was no fear seducing him and running in his veins. Instead there was something more furious, burning hotter than the blue flames that lit up the dungeon corridors around the holidays. It was a sensation he had had before yet still failed to name.

He slowly turned on his heel, looking back down the corridor and found Marcus just feet away from him, crumbled into the fetal position, motionless on the floor and standing in front of Crabbe and Goyle was Harry Potter, wand held firm in his hand, scowl on his face clear as day even from such a far distance.

His mind went wild and numbed itself to the orders he tried to give it to shut his damned mouth, jaw too slack and lips parted in surprise.

Harry’s head turned toward the classroom on the other side of the wall from him as a chair moved back suddenly, as if someone were trying to move it out of their way and it finally clicked for Draco just _who_ was in there.

Nothing had to be said between the two for Harry to get the urgency of the situation, no, just a look from the blond had him moving.

The gap between he and Harry quickly shrunk and though he could quite clearly see him running toward him, he failed to move to the side and stayed cemented in the center of the corridor like a statue. But then a hand had grasped his sleeve and hot air ghosted his skin as Harry’s voice cried out, “Run!” while he pulled at his arm.

There were no second thoughts to find in his head by the time he had been grabbed, Draco let his body be spun to face the other way and just started to run alongside the panting Gryffindor, as if their lives depended on it- for Draco, his almost did he supposed.

They found their way around the corner and down another corridor, to the moving staircases where they quickly ascended, two steps at a time, winding round and round until they had their way blocked by an old oil painting of a large woman who seemed all but thrilled to see them there.

But Harry didn’t wait for any snide comment from The Fat Lady and merely snapped out, “Dracarys!”, shoved her out of the way the minute there was enough space, and hauled Draco in through the slowly widening opening and into the Gryffindor common room.

Large red leather sofas sat in a semi-circle around a fireplace and behind that several tables, loveseats and armchairs sat in various positions. Some books littered one of the tables and on the other sat chocolate frog wrappers and duplicate cards none cared to grab.

His view of the place was limited to those first brief minutes as Harry hurried them through, around the sofas and up the stairs that lead into the boys’ dormitory. It was only after the door closed firmly behind them and Harry had pulled him to sit on a lazily made bed (figures), did he speak, between pants.

“What exactly… was going on back there?”

Draco let a shaky breath fall from his lips and looked down at the floor, a blank expression on his face as he briefly lost himself in thought.

“I would like to know the same from you. What were you doing there anyways? And what gave you the idea to stupefy Flint like that?!”

“Well he was going to try and hit you while your back was turned.” He muttered, leaning back against one of the bedposts with a sigh. “If you want to get into fights, that’s not my business, but I wouldn’t let someone cheat like that, it’s pathetic.”

Draco laughed at that, considering the context of the conversation just before Harry had shown up. “The lot of them were being obnoxious. Marcus and I said some things that the other didn’t care very much for. He threw the first punch and I’d assumed I finished the damn argument, but evidently, not.” He looked back up, though he avoided meeting Harry’s gaze. “I suppose I owe you one now.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. I didn’t help you so you’d do something for me, I helped because the cowardice is pathetic.”

He raised a brow toward Harry and then hummed in his throat. Was he being obtuse about the incident last year (he still detested seeing any ferrets) or did he truly not hold grudges? How the hell did he get through life without being angry at the world around him for its misdeeds? Anger was all Draco could feel most times. Strangely enough, this was not one of them. Instead he felt as if he were floating, like when he lay in the tub and close his eyes- sort of freeing, in a sense.

“You really are a Gryffindor, aren’t you? That damned pride and honor shit…”

“You know Slytherins are also absolutely full of pride too, right? Besides, Houses don’t dictate everyone’s personality or anything. Like, look at you. You’ve been an insufferable prick since we first met, but sometimes you show other parts of yourself.”

His nose wrinkled. “What are you prattling on about, Potter?”

“You sometimes tell your friends to drop the bullying or go out of your way to avoid being part of their stupidity. You’ve helped some first years before, even ones not in Slytherin. Then there was the practice where George got hurt, you shut them up with their mocking and helped me get him to the infirmary. Then you helped me just last night avoid getting caught and thrown into detention for the entire school year. You don’t ever have to do any of those things. The fact you do says you’re not a pure emulation of Slytherin’s stereotypes.”

Heat flushed into Draco’s cheeks, a stark contrast of shade to his pale moonlight skin, but try as he wanted to, he couldn’t turn his head away to hide it in shame and embarrassment.

Harry reached out then, warm fingers grazing his cheek, from its smooth surface to the gash and then withdrew his hand with a grimace. “You’re still bleeding… Just a second..”

He left his side to root through his luggage for a small white plastic container. When Draco gave a suspicious look, he popped it open to show bandages and other first aid supplies.

“I’m going to clean that cut and bandage it for you, so you won’t even have to go to the infirmary.”

“Why the bloody hell would I let you take care of my medical needs? Not that there even is any, it’s a stupid scratch that’s all.”

“Well, if you go there with an injury they’ll have to do up a report and send a copy home. You already said you’re on thin ice with your father so I figured I’d save you the hassle.”

His surprise must have shown on his face, because Harry continued to speak after he soaked a cotton ball with rubbing alcohol and dabbed it across the gash in his cheek. Pain reared its ugly head and Draco hissed, but it was over and done with in seconds and then Harry was putting a peach colored bandage over top of it.

“I told you, I’m not the one who said we’re enemies. We’ve fought for a few years but I’ve never said that, now have I? I’m not trying to be your enemy in this, Draco. I’m just trying to survive school and, well, now Voldemort too.”

With a plain cloth, a small wave of his wand and hushed ‘Aguamenti’ to wet it, he cleaned the damp and dried blood from beneath the wound down to his lip and corners of his mouth.

The silence that was created and given life to was surprisingly not awkward and tense as those moments tended to be between them. Instead, they just sat next to one another, both looking for the right words to say to the other only to come up empty.

“Thank you… For this.”

“Oh, uh, yeah no problem.”

“Drac-“  
“Potte-“

Draco cleared his throat and clenched his hands to fists there on his lap. “Sorry, you go first.”

“Well it’s just, I was wondering something.”

“What?”

“What are you doing for the holidays?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're questioning; was there a GOT reference in here? Was this chapter late?  
> The answer is yes. Both yes.  
> Sorry!


	8. Sobering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every word from his lips felt heavy, as if it were metal crushing down on him all at once. They screamed in his ears and throbbed in his head. An offered hand gave desperately begged for silence and the first breath of fresh air in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all ever not write for like 5 months?   
> Happy holidays, enjoy your yule and remember to be merry, gay and do crime! :)

The worst of it was already over. A letter home telling his parents his choice to remain at the school for holidays went over… well, not good. His father wrote back in anger- threatened to next time use a howler (though Draco doubted he would, lest his son’s reputation be that of a moron or some other such ilk) and demanded he return home in those next coming weeks. Narcissa however, simply wrote him that she would miss him at home and would send his gifts to him. She merely asked he come back home for the new year celebrations and that wasn’t much to do so he’d agreed to at least spend that part of the holidays with her. He doubted his father would speak much to him; it was his childish way to show Draco how irritated he was with him. Draco didn’t mind though; it was actually preferable that while he was at home it would mostly just be his mother and him. He liked those moments; they were some of the happiest he could recall feeling. Until the last few years at least.

It had taken him entirely by surprise when Harry had asked about his plans for the holidays. It hadn’t come off as facetious or mocking in the slightest and in mere seconds of hearing his voice, letting them sink in, his face began to bleed color into his cheeks and over the bridge of his nose.

His voice had faltered and throat and mouth dried up almost instantly. He could merely stare up at the other teen with his mouth slightly agape, for what felt like hours. The granules of sand teetered off a nearby hourglass, a gentle reminder of how time continued even with his stupor and with that he closed his mouth and pursed his lips tightly while he gathered his thoughts.

_“I..” What was the lump in his throat? “Well I..” Was that his voice? Had he always sounded this sour? “I’m staying at the school!”_

_Darkness obscured his vision as hot shame overwhelmed him and his eyes fell shut, tightly squeezed. Behind his skull his brain flopped around, useless and beneath the strong ribcage his heart felt so fragile and faint it made him feel almost dizzy with fear it might just give out on him._

_“Oh, that sounds pretty nice. I stayed here my first year, it was really something else. I assume Crabbe and Goyle are staying back to hang around with you? You should have a lot of fun.”_

_The laughter he had been envisioning hearing in his head over and over dissipated. There wasn’t even an ounce of judgement within Harry’s tone._

_Draco tentatively opened his eyes, airy grays finding the deep mossy green of the other boy and just like his voice, no judgement was in them. Only warmth._

_“I.. They’re going home. I’m staying here on my own, actually.”_

_“Wait, you’re going to spend the holidays by yourself?”_

_“Well.. yes.”_

_“You can’t..”_

_“What?”_

_“You can’t spend Christmas alone.”_

_“Tch. Why not? What does it even matter to you anyways, Potter?”_

_Harry shifted beside him and he saw the space between the pair of them shrink until it was only visible to a squinting eye. He looked at him in apprehension. He could feel the walls raising up higher in his head, he couldn’t help but to distrust anyone’s true intentions, regardless of familiarity. The last year or so, he’d found himself choking down tears when he felt that distrust extend to his mother of all people. She’d never done anything wrong. Harry hadn’t ever made himself a known threat or issue to him, as he’d said, it had been Draco that went about things as if they were enemies._

_He looked away from his face, unable to accept the look of genuine concern that marred otherwise perfect softness, though in some ways it served to compliment that injured puppy look._

_So wrapped up in his own thoughts and critical glance through his emotions and reasons for choices, he almost didn’t notice the tan fingers curl around his wrist, pressure sinking the digits into a sea of emerald fabric belonging to his Slytherin jumper._

_“I spent every Christmas until I was eleven all by myself. Sure, my aunt and uncle and cousin were there, but..” Hesitation spilled into their hot shared air. “I just know how loneliness can feel overwhelming even on good days. It’s harder during times when you see everyone else with family. Loving family.”_

_Harry exhaled what felt like years of heaviness out from his lungs and the entire time, he kept that smile on his lips; kind, understanding, pleading._

_“Sometimes it made me angry, hot with jealousy when I saw the other kids packing up and heading home. Or getting presents sent in from family, presents that meant something, that showed they cared. I’ve been awful in what would run through my head. I know you’ll just say that it never happens with you and that you’re fine, but I just don’t want to give you any opportunity to feel the way I have.”_

_Draco cocked a brow, surprise marring up his features. Once more as he looked upon him there were no lies detected in the other’s voice, leaving him forced to take him as honest. That in itself drove the familiar feeling into the pit of his stomach like a knife into tender flesh. He almost swore to have felt a genuine stab. Somehow in these past years of knowing him, Draco had taken Harry to be as prideful as he was himself, not one to admit when he felt or thought things unbecoming of him. Yet, he sat there and openly spoke of how anger got him and dug its claws in firm, only to be washed by the acidic guilt._

_He put a hand to his own stomach and fisted the shirt that lay overtop of pale skin. The room felt both too hot and cold._

_If even the perfect golden child of Gryffindor felt those dark and muddied things and still found others who cared for him what did it say about his own odds? Were there those out there that would take his hand without hate being buried in them?_

_Was that not what Harry was doing right now?_

_“What exactly are you getting at with all of this, Potter?”_

_He saw his own surprise reflected back at him in Harry’s expression then._

_“I wanted to ask you to spend the holidays with me.”_

_“Excuse me?”_

_“Look, I don’t really even go home for the holidays anymore. I spend them with Ron at his family’s home, the Burrow. They’ve let me go any time I’ve wanted and never cared once about it- well except for the time Ron and I stole his father’s car—er, but anyways, I know Mrs. Weasley would say yes to anyone who wanted to come, especially kids. She’s a mother through an’ through, she wouldn’t judge you based on your father or your past grievances if you show her that you’re not the same person. Hell, even if you were, she’d probably still want to help you. ‘s just her nature, after all.”_

_“Let me see if I get what you’re asking here. You want me, a pureblooded Slytherin to come spend the winter holidays with not just a bunch of Gryffindors, but the Weasleys in particular who are not only considered blood traitors but are so poor a House Elf could own them.”_

_An exasperated groan fled past Harry’s shimmering cherry lips. “Well I don’t want to extend the offer if you’ll talk like that when we’re there. They’d be showing you kindness and maybe some semblance of a normal family. I feel like you could use it. Can’t you just stop thinking about all the other things people want from your life and just do something for your own sake?”_

_Somewhere between that plea and the soft skin of his hands clutched tightly in the light tanned and rougher hands of Harry, Draco seemed to have made his mind up._

_“Alright.”_

_“Alright?”_

_“Yeah. I’ll do it.” A pause. “This can’t get back to my father, you understand? And this isn’t about some pride thing. I mean it, he can’t find out.”_

_They exchanged looks that held understanding in them, far beyond the words but their meanings. Harry’s eyes reflected knowing what he was pressing here. They also carried sadness, but Draco looked away before it could start to knead into his skin and possibly get beneath._

_The thud of the other’s body colliding into his own nearly threw them both off the bed and to the floor and would have if Draco didn’t grab one of the bed posts, the other arm curling around the lanky frame of Harry. Harry’s arms were firmly around him, dark hair tickling his cheek and suddenly he felt there was no air left in the room._

_“You’ll have a good time.” Harry was speaking but it wasn’t going beyond his ears to sink in. His mind was still in a fog over their embracing- which had yet to end._

_When he failed to audibly respond, their hug was relinquished and Harry had instead put both palms of his hands on Draco’s cheeks and fixed him with an almost smug grin._

_“I promise.”_

_This time, Draco blinked back to reality and present and at the very least managed a weak laugh._

_“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Harry.”_

_“I’ll keep this one, no matter what.”_

 

The way back to the dungeons was walked with legs mostly numb. Draco let Harry leave to go speak with Ron and Hermione while he got some clothes and things packed up for the spontaneous trip he was to take now. He nodded if someone called to him, but he spoke not a word. Wasn’t entirely sure his throat would cooperate to let them past his thin lips.

As he knelt into his bed and pressed a jumper inside his suitcase, small seeds of doubt tried to pierce the surface of his mind. Was it all for a joke? They’d invite him under false pretenses but merely planned to mock him. Or they would expose his treachery to his father in hopes of having him reprimanded by his father as payback for his own interference in their lives? The thoughts made his stomach twist up in fear that he’d never voice of course. He supposed if worse came to worse he could out-jinx two of the trio. Granger on the other hand…

He sighed. Did he truly want to commit to this? His answer was immediate. He did, his pride simply couldn’t allow him to back out after already saying yes. His curiosity was firmly held with that pride as well. He had fuzzy memories of times where his family was together and genuinely happy to be so. But even those were becoming hard to distinguish as real. He couldn’t tell if his father had ever been happy with his wife and son.

Bags packed, he met back up with Harry down by the main entryway into the castle’s southern side. The carriages were already there, gliding along by themselves as always. Some packed to bursting with students, excited about their upcoming holidays.

Beside him were the other two Gryffindors, Ron and Hermione. Hermione was well bundled, with just her brown eyes and pink nose and cheeks visible outside of her hat and scarf. She had a small suitcase with her, indicating she intended to go home and wouldn’t need most of her things. He mentally wondered if all that was inside it were books instead of clothes.

Ron on the other hand was standing there in his jumper and a torn up and raggedy looking hat forced onto his head.

Both of Harry’s companions wore ill expressions when he walked up to them. Not something he wasn’t expecting, honestly, so it didn’t both him any.

Harry had that lopsided goofball grin on his face that usually made Draco’s blood boil, but this time around he didn’t find it all that bad to see that level of cheerfulness on his face. Since the last school year and its horrific ending though, it seemed he spent more time frowning- and Draco was certain that of the two of them, he was the one who should be doing the frowning for the both of them. Though that sentiment itself made his blood heat up, an entirely new sensation as of late.

“Thought you might’ve changed your mind or something.” Harry teased, hoisting his beat-up bag onto the carriage, moving to take Hermione’s next. “But you’re here! That’s… It’s great.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t back down from anything like this, that’d be ridiculous.” He huffed out, not too sure the other teen believed him. Maybe he could read him better than he figured he could. That thought spiked paranoia in the deepest caverns of his mind and suddenly his throat was blocked by a heavy lump. _Just how much could Harry read into_?

“Mm. I’m sure everyone’s hearts are warmed just because I chose to stick to this agreement.” He commented dryly. He looked to the others who were exchanging glances- yet they weren’t exactly judging to him, more weary than anything and he understood why, not that it lessened the sting any. He wasn’t sure when or why he gave a damn about their approval. He was beginning to think it would be easier to just chalk it all up to having a less firm grip on his emotions this time of the year.

Stowing his bag in the carriage and climbing inside himself, he let the silence grow between the group of them. He certainly wasn’t about to try light conversation with them. Last year the most conversation that went on was him gloating over Harry being injured in the Tournament and lamenting nothing had happened when the other two were beneath the lake. Other than that he hadn’t spoken with them. Unless one counted mocking them or insulting them (yet again) and the occasional screaming at them from across the courtyard in pathetic desperation to get beneath their skin.

The snow crunched under the wheel of the carriage once the trio had joined him and he gave a glance toward the castle as it began to slowly dwindle in the distance. They’d be at the train in some few moments, but they felt a hell of a lot longer than that. Silence was almost unbearable, but the idea of talking was worse to the blond so he was more than okay with nothing but the sounds of nature around them and the faint end trails of conversations from other carriages just out of eyesight.

The train was just ahead and despite how tense the silence had made them, seeing it seemed to relieve some of that. To each of them that was their connection to the school, to a far-from-home home. Potter mostly, but even Draco always felt a swelling in his chest when he arrived.

Leaving their bags to be brought in for them, they boarded the Express and he found himself following quickly behind Harry as he walked down the corridor to pick where they would house up for the few hours they’d be on board.

“Let’s go to the front boxcar, Potter.” He said suddenly, stopping in his step (very nearly having Ron and Hermione walk into his back).

“The front? Why?”

“That’s where the nicer compartments are.” He paused. “Uh… It’s also where the treat cart starts off at, so the better candies aren’t already gone.”

With a wry grin, Harry shifted to the side to let Draco ahead so he could lead them toward where he had spent most of his travel to and from school. Hell, the room he chose year after year at this point had initials carved into the seats of Slytherin students now long gone, his own had been included his first year, ego driven and all, he wouldn’t have accepted having to wait to add his name to the list.

He opened up the door and lead the other three inside the large compartment. Many booths lined both sides of the aisles and glimmering silver racks to hold luggage were overhead. Deep emerald shaders lined the windows. Although no part of the train belonged to one house of the school, it seemed that some just gravitated to one area or another. For all the years he’d been attending, there’d only ever been Slytherins here. He didn’t really know who had put in the green shaders but they’d never changed. He rarely ever saw them used, actually. Most students enjoyed watching the landscape fly by them in blurs, some falling asleep to the motion of the train blended in with the scenery.

They dropped onto the benches with Harry finding the outer edge beside Draco and Ron and Hermione across from them. The train screeched after that and the slow click-clack of the rails being run over soon turned into a steady noise in their background.

“Let’s play a game.” Harry suggested after a few minutes slugged by with no efforts from the other three.

“A game?” Draco queried, brow arching. “What kind of game could we possibly play on the bloody train?”

Rummaging into his pocket, he withdrew a few boxes of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans and dropped them onto the table.

“Fred and George play this a lot back in the common rooms. Ron’ll be familiar with it.”

A quick glance at the redhead and his scrunched up nose told Draco that it was an accurate statement.

“Basically you pick a bean and try to guess what the flavor will be. Get it right and you get a point. First to, say, two, wins.”

“And we win what exactly?”

“Uh, the game. Or I guess bragging rights if you want.”

Draco shook his head. “No, there has to be a better pay off.”

Sliding his hand into his coat pocket, he drew out a velvet black coin purse; there were threads of ruby sewn in and around it, creating faint patterns in the cloth. Tipping it, several large and shimmering galleons tumbled out onto the table, clattering and clinking as they hit one another before finding their resting place.

“Whoever wins has to buy the other two a bloody Christmas gift. Consider me kind enough to provide the money to do so if you don’t have enough.” He didn’t look at Ronald as he spoke, almost afraid he would offend him. Giving a damn about that was almost disturbing to him.

“Sure.” The boy agreed, pulling all their gazes to him in surprise.

Hermione shrugged a little. “I suppose so, yes, alright.”

Harry merely nodded his agreement to the little bet, letting Draco slide the galleons back into the bag and his pocket, before he poured the beans out of their boxes and into the center of the table.

“Alright, I’ll go first.” He breathed, looking over the colorful confections there in front of him. He reached out and grabbed a misshapen cream bean. His nose scrunched and he squinted at the thing as if it might give him any insight to what its flavor may be.

“This one is definitely coffee.”

“Yeah? Go on then.”

He dropped the candy in his mouth and with an apprehensive grimace, chewed down onto it. The hopeful look in his eyes that he was correct was quickly squashed and replaced with horror and saliva pooling at the corners of his lips. He spat the remnants of the bean onto a napkin and dropped back with a grunt.

“Or it was sandy beach.”

The other three laughed quietly at his suffering, but their luck fell into the same category of disaster as one after one they made guesses and fails.

Draco struggled to down what tasted like some erroneous concoction of dirt, chimney soot and dust. He’d gagged harshly on it and made such a look of utter disgust, it had Ron choking on his own laughter and being desperately smacked on the back by Hermione who wore a torn look of both amusement but also concern.

“Are you alright?”

It caught him by surprise to note she was directing the question to him.

“Oh..” He almost wasn’t sure how to work his voice to give answer. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He managed after a moment, unable to quite reel himself in enough to not give a smile. “How.. um, how are you? That pepper and charcoal one looked pretty awful.”

Warm and airy laughter bubbled out from Hermione’s shimmering, glossed lips. She too held a look of surprise to him showing any concern for her wellbeing, so it was nice to know they were the same in that regard.

“I’m okay, the taste is finally fading.” She mused, leaning back in her seat. “Ron, is your mum coming to pick us up or just your dad? Last time Arthur said he couldn’t get her to leave the kitchen, she was cooking so much up.”

Ron gave a little shrug, tongue out between pink lips, being assaulted with a napkin; some feeble attempt to get the gross taste out from his mouth.

“I ‘unno. Mayve?” He tossed the paper to the side, missing the small trash basket in the corner by some several feet. Hopefully he didn’t try-out for the quidditch team as anything aside from a Keeper. Though, maybe it would be helpful for him to do that, at least helpful for Draco’s own team.. The thought drifted from his mind quick when the conversation continued. “I think so, she doesn’t usually start the absurdity cooking for the holidays til this comin’ Saturday, so she should be there.”

Draco shifted in his seat. He wasn’t entirely sure he knew what to expect from Ron’s parents. He’d been plenty nasty with his own father when they were around. The anxiety that this was truly all a trick began to worm its way from the back of his head to the front. He wrung his hands, nails digging into the soft cotton fibres of his jumper.

“Hey.”

He almost groaned at Harry’s voice. Draco really didn’t want some pep talk from the golden boy of Gryffindor right now.

“We still don’t have a winner! C’mon, let’s finish up before we get there.”

A round of nodding between them lead to Harry having his next shot at gaining his final point. He inspected the red bean in his palm with a healthy dose of skepticism this time. It seemed he had learned from his earlier wild guessing.

“Alright… I think this one’s going to be cinnamon. Muggles have these candies that are bright red like this and they usually are cinnamon in taste. Course, normally you can smell em.” He muttered, frowning. “Well, might as well go for it.”

Harry’s ‘cinnamon’ bean was a surprisingly simple cherry flavor, a relief to the teen for sure, but not a second point to score.

Ron’s second try was with a green bean that held flecks of brown or grey in its almost radioactive appearance. He incorrectly figured it to be avocado, and though he was incorrect, and it turned out to be the stalk of dandelion from an unkempt yard, it was possibly for the better.

That lead to just Draco and Hermione on their own guesses. They both chose beans, his being a sort of yellow color and hers being a disturbing shade of brown. Unlike the other two, they didn’t try squinting at them as if it would unveil their flavor.

“I’m going to guess it’s mud.” Hermione said, frowning at her bean.

“I think this one’s earwax.” Draco reasoned, though he had his doubts. Then again, the game was all chance and guessing so he supposed he was doing it right then.

The pair of them put the beans in their mouth at the same time and on a countdown of three, bit into them together and both make disgusted faces.

Hermione gave a cheerful quip following her own discovery, however. Even with the awful taste, it seemed her guess of mud was right. Whereas Draco’s was incorrect but still very much horrid and had the bitter aftertaste of defeat.

“Eugh..” He spat it out almost immediately, scrunching up his nose. “I think that was vomit.”

Hermione politely spat the remnants of hers into a napkin after the excited whoop of victory, clapping her hands together.

“I’m not usually the one who wins these sorts of games.” She said, smiling in giddiness at her hands as they all adjusted to sit more comfortably again. “I don’t need the money though, I um.. bought Ron and Harry their Christmas gifts back in the summer before school.” She grinned at the pair. “But I reckon I can figure out something to get for you too, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Oh please, Mr. Malfoy is my father- who will not be hearing about this.”

All three of the teens exchanged an uproarious laughter but the moment of unison amusement died out by the sound of Harry letting loose a loud scream of pain.

Hermione and Ron looked to their best friend with sadness in gaze, but it was Draco that jolted forward out of his seat to grab the boy by the shoulder, cold sweat and panic etched into his face.

“Harry?? What’s wrong? Are you alright?”

 Messy hair poured into his face as he leaned forward, grunting in pain though it was less intense as it had been moments before. Harry didn’t respond to the questioning or much of anything around him at first, seeming to be overwhelmed by pain. When he at last sat back upright and brushed dark strands out of the way, his green eyes fixed themselves on gaze with Draco’s silver-hues.

“I’m… alright..” He exhaled shakily then and a slow smile made its appearance on his still slightly trembling lips. “You called me Harry.”

Draco hadn’t noticed what words fell from his mouth in his short panic, but with it being out loud and acknowledged, he wasn’t sure what he felt in his stomach but it was something he wasn’t used to. Was it embarrassment? No, his face didn’t flush with hot shame.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and reeled back some, hoping the space put between he and Harry would be enough to make the thudding in his chest and stomach die down a little. Enough so he could breathe without it being shaky at least.

“Well it’s… ‘s your name, so.”

“Yeah, heh, but you’ve never called me that. I don’t think even once. It’s always just been Potter.”

“You just screamed in pain! Threw me off, t-that’s all.” He exhaled strongly out his nose and frowned. “What the hell even happened there?”

The grin died off a little on Harry’s face, instead a grimace took its place and their eye contact was broken by him looking away, glancing to the window where the scenery continued to speed by.

“I’ve always had this pain in my head, well, in my scar really. Ever since I was a little kid. Muggle doctors said it was just stress and later just headaches from having no glasses. But it’s never been any of that..” He sighed. “It got worse once I got to Hogwarts. At first I thought it was somehow because Snape was evil. But I learned my first year that my scar damn well sears in pain whenever I’ve been close to Voldemort. That year, he was hidden attached to Professor Quirrell. The next, there was a memory of him embedded into an old diary of his. Then last year after the Triwizard tournament, after Cedric and I hit the graveyard with the portkey, I knew Voldemort was there before I saw him or Pettigrew. I knew because my head felt like something was on the inside clawing at my skull trying to get out. Everything went white from the pain… and then everything went green. I’ve hated it, my entire life, but with him being back now maybe it’s good that I can tell when he’s near. I dunno, maybe I can use it to my advantage, maybe save someone the next time.”

Words he’d snarled at Harry earlier in the year about Diggory jabbed like little blades into the surface of his skin, making the cold sweat gleaning off the surface feel acidic. However, his own discomfort meant little to him in that moment.

“Does… is there anything that.. helps?”

“Well actually, stealing some of the food Mrs. Weasley sends to Ron does.”

“MATE!”

As laughter took over them all again, the muffled voice came over the PA to announce their arrival to the station and the train began to decrease in speed. Rolling low clouds of smoke drifted across windows as the breaks strained and squealed under the pressure to bring them to their stop.

The four of them stood up and exited the cabin to the hall still laughing, with Ron now complaining that he knew Harry had been the thief and not Neville and Hermione chastising him for being so ridiculous to think anyone but his best friend would be stealing his sweets.

Draco wondered if this might be what they were like all the time, when he or the others weren’t at their throats. Did this kind of banter get them through the pain they’d all already endured so much of?

He moved to the side of the corridor to let a few other students past their group, fully intending on asking Harry but when the doors slid open and he stepped out of the train, Draco found himself fiercely pulled down the last step and against the warm shoulder of one Mrs. Weasley in a too-tight-air-stealing hug.

“Welcome to the family, darling.”


	9. Heavy in the Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's hard to know what home is when it no longer feels like it. Suddenly it's begun to make sense why everyone around him calls Hogwarts home.

_ “Draco, have you woken already?” _

_ “Mama! Did you see the snow?” _

_ “Shh, your father’s still asleep, dove. Want to go play outside before he’s up?” _

_ Hushed excitement, “Yes!”, small feet touched cool floor and tentative footsteps rushed across to the arms of a woman who showered his little head in kisses. _

_ A struggle to get his boots and coat on- he could do it himself. He was pretty much a grown up already after all- later and he was throwing the front door open and running into the chill of early December. _

_ The leaves had been coated in a thick layer of snow yet as he ran out to greet the flakes still falling, they snapped and crunched under the light foot falls. _

_ Draco heard his mother hurry after him but did not slow. Their little game of snake and mouse had been around since he'd begun the awkward wobbling all children jad to master. If she wanted to halt his energy she had to catch him first. _

_ He puffed his cheeks up and leaned forward as he sped through the grounds; this made him more aerodynamic- whatever that meant. He'd simply seen and heard it in his cartoons and it always worked for them so why not him too? _

_ His eyes landed on the gold and green sled he'd gotten from Santa this past Christmas; if he could make it to the thing he could race it down the driveway and- _

_ Warm arms snaked around his waist with lightning reflexes amd stole him away from the delicate snow. It was as if she had read his mind and knew his 'master' plan as she peppered the top of his head with kisses and laughter.  _

_ "Oh no you don't. Caught you, mouse." _

_ He wriggled but was firm in her grasp. "Don't eat me mrs snake!" _

_ "Oh? Why not? Little blond boys are delicious breakfast for snakes you know." _

_ "Nooo!" _

_ "What the hell are you two doing?"  _

_ Lucius' voice was cold, but unlike the snow it did not carry happiness amd the promise of warmth later on. It was just purely frigid. _

_ He stood on the front doorstep with a look of muted distaste and irritation Draco knew all too well, even as young as he was. _

_ Narcissa set him on his feet and ushered her son behind her as discreet as she could as she faced her husband. The snake now curled into a mouse when she spoke. _

_ "Draco wanted to play in the snow for a while.. why don't you join us Darling?" _

_ "Risk filth and falling ill for something he'll forget about in the two months when it all melts? Don't be ridiculous. Get him inside immediately, breakfast is ready." _

_ Draco looked up at her with worry etched onto his face. His hands grasped one of hers, his small heart conflicted. He wanted to play more with her and spend time out in the snow, but his father was so angry as it was.. _

_ "We're supposed to be making memories with him!" _

_ "Narcissa we're supposed to raosong an heir to the Malfoy bloodline not playing silly games." _

_ He turned to walk back inside and Draco moved from the shelter of his mother, but the trembling woman screamed out and paused them and all the world around them. _

_ "We're supposed to be a family!!!" _

_ Family …. _

* * *

Eyelashes light as angel wings rose up and the world that was black was quickly swallowed up as light and blurred shapes appeared around him. 

As soon as Mrs. Weasley had let him go and finished bear hugging each of the other teens, she told them they would be travelling by portkey, the lot of them began to head out and away from the train station. Draco tuned them all out as they walked together, his mind miles-years- away. Over and over he heard the single word repeated in his head.  _ Family.. _

The portkey Mrs. Weasley had brought to the train station had been a beat up steering wheel which now sat to the left of the group. Around him he heard the groans of Harry and Ron, whose landing had been a bit rough. Any other time he would've laughed at their clumsiness and lack of wizard finesse, but couldn't bring his mind out of the memory. It had dug its claws into his brain and wouldn't budge.

He'd only closed his eyes briefly and yet it felt as though he had relived the memory twenty times over in that time. He still felt his heart race as it had back then and still felt the sting that had come from seeing his father march across the drive to strike his mother across the cheek. To know she got angry and lashed out and as a result was hurt just because he'd wanted to play in the snow still twisted in his back like a rusted knife blade.

It only made him wonder;  _ what had the other things he'd done over the years gotten his mother? How much pain was directly his fault? _

 

"You alright, Draco?" Harry's voice cut through it all and suddenly he was seeing grass underfoot and not snow.

 

Squeezing his eyes shut so tightly that dots of ombre rainbow speckled and flickered in and out of existence behind his lids, Draco felt hi self, all of him, returning to the present and a sigh rattled out of his cage.

 

"Yeah. I'm just… trying not to laugh at the two of you. It's like watching toddlers figure out how to use their legs."

 

Harry laughed and it felt like the most earnest and real thing he'd ever heard.

 

"Hey c'mon now, I didn't grow up like you guys. I've only used a portkey a couple of times."

 

"Alright. What's your excuse Weasley?"

 

"Sod off." The redhead grunted, but a grin was plastered to his face all the same. "And… yoh can just call me Ron y'know."

 

Draco knew his failure to hide the surprise on his face by the look on the others'. He recovered quickly at least, chuckling. 

"Y'know, it's the same as riding a broom. Close your eyes for a second. Envision your feet hitting solid ground. After you hear the slight pop, open your eyes again, still thinking of touching the ground. If you do that you'll get better at landing and won't just collide with it. It'll still take time and practice though. Just um… just a tip."

 

Harry offered his lopsided grin as he approached and dropped an arm over the blond's shoulders.

 

"Heck it out Ron, we've got our own personal teacher here to give us guidelines."

 

"Why, so you can ignore them all and go at it with your typical Gryffindor bravado?"

 

Hernione piped up from behind him, wiping blades of grass from her jumper. She was smiling as she spoke and it reminded Draco of when his mother tried to scold him as a child. He wondered if that was the role Hermione plyed in their social circle. Was she often mothering the two clueless boys in front of her?

 

Both Ron and Harry laughed and it would be a lie to say Draco had refused to join in.

 

As their laughter died out to the thicket all around them, Mrs. Weasley corralled them together.

 

"Just a bit further and we're home. Come along then!"

 

The group was ushered forward, cutting right through tall grass until they arrived on the other side, leaving the wetlands to either side of them.

 

Draco pushed the last of the weeds put of his way and stepped thrpugh into the clearing and his eyes landed upon the Weasley homestead.

 

The building was certainly a grand act of magic work, no mundane architecture would hold such an odd shape. It rose up from the vibrant greens to reach t'wards the sky with six rickety floors before topping off with a faded roof and brick chimney peaking out above it all. Windows of differing sizes and shapes let the light through as they littered almost every side he could see. Halfway up, at the third floor he reckoned, the muddied brick siding gave way to muted brown that bled and merged into faded gray stonewall at the top.

A cream colored gutter sloped down in a kind of zigzag pattern to the ground, where it took a sharp turn around the side to eventually release its collection of rain water into one of the many ponds around the property. The front door was misshapen and the curtain pulled across its tiny window didn't match any of the ones in the front windows at all. A gnarled piece of wood hung on the front door and crudely carved into it ( by hand or magic Draco could not tell ) it read;  _ 'Weasley' _

 

Mrs. Weasley jostled on by the group to the door only it opened long before she drew near and in the doorway stood Mr. Weasley all smiles and open armed.

 

"Molly!"

 

"Oh!" She cried in response and hurried her shuffle to meet him in the doorway. They shared a long hug and short kiss wherein Mr. Weasley touseled her curly red hair and she scoffed and wagged her finger at him.

 

Draco hadn't seen a married couple act so… actually in love with one another. Neither of the two seemed forcing themselves. There was no regretful look in Mrs. Weasley's eyes when she turned away from her husband to beam at the four teens and gesture for them to hurry on inside.

 

The other Weasley members were already there waiting. The moment they got in, all the calm of the outside world buckled and caved in as conversations erupted in any direction.

 

Ginny and Hermione exchanged excited speed talk, while Fred- or was it George?- began instigating Ron in typical older sibling fashion. He caught wind of their teasing as he walked away and couldn't help but laugh under his breath.

 

Draco took the time to wander the many odd rooms in the odd house. The kitchen was large, naturally. Dishes rotated in hot soapy water with no physical assistance and a towel rubbed the dampness from multiple different colored plates before they put themselves away neatly in a nearby open cabinet.

 

All over were pictures of the family and scenic snapshots. Baby photos of who he assumed to be Ginny (in a soft beige petticoat) rested on a dusty mantle over a fireplace that had long gone unused. Other photos of small children had him giving up on guessing quickly enough though. All chubby little redheads with bewildered expressions and revolting outfits.

 

An older set of pictures showed a much younger Molly and Arthur slowly dancing in circles. She wore a simple white gown that flowed loose off her ankles and he sported a black jacket and suspenders. Their wedding. In the other sets, their family and friends were around them, clapping or crying with smiles stuck to their lips.

 

It occurred to Draco just then that he had never seen photos like this at home, of his own parents at their wedding. Were there any photos of them together at all? He couldn't remember. He knew there were three photos of him as a baby, on his own and with each parent respectively. One picture hung over the fireplace of the main living space and in the dining room was just one of all three of them, but aside from that the walls were bare. As if Lucius were ashamed to show others that he had married and had a child. Draco couldn’t honestly say he would be surprised if his father’s ego and desperation for reputation really did go so far as to be ashamed for being near Narcissa or him.

 

"That was three months before we found out I was pregnant. With Bill/Charlie."

 

Mrs. Weasley piped up just then fron the doorway. He hadn't even heard her walk in and felt the jostle as he jumped out of his skin. She made no mention nor snicker over it as she walked to stand next to him. Her eyes gazed slowly over each picture and he could tell her memories replayed vibrantly in her mind as she did so.

 

"I was very afraid actually."

 

Draco glanced at her with a look of confusion. "What could you be afraid of? Didn't you always want a large family?"

 

"Oh of course I did! I dreamt of it when I was small. I was afraid, in that moment, because it was now no longer a dream but real. And what if I turned out to be a terrible mother?"

 

At that sentiment, Draco couldn't even try to hold his laughter back.

 

"Bloody hell, anyone who's met you has never shut up about how wonderful you are. Every holiday when you send loads of those sweaters, the new kids go over the top in excitement. And your actual kids have only ever stood up for you. So it's quite hard to imagine you thinking you wouldn't be a good mother, Mrs. Weasley. Even to a person like me, it's clear you're a rather great mother."

 

Molly could only get out a choked "Oh..", before the dams collapsed and tears began their descent along her cheeks. Though she cried, a smile graced her lips. 

 

"That makes me happy to hear. Especially from you, love. You see, I have something for you, but I worried it may erm.. embarrass you had I sent it to school with everyone else's.."

 

She moved away from the photos and confused teen and gently picked up a crudely wrapped parcel set aside the other gifts beneath the tree. Thin rope wound around it twice before knotting in the front. A torn piece of parchment was pinned there with Draco's name neatly scrawled on it. 

 

She handed it toward him, absolutely beaming, though he also recognized uncertainty and worry in her face. 

 

Draco grabbed the gift and began to loosen the twine and crinkling paper. It soon all slipped off the side and he was left with a large sweater in his hands. It was folded carefully and specifically, because in the center of the chest there was a large, silver threaded 'D'.

 

It was soft and warm just there against his palms. The fabric was lumpy in places where the yarn bundled together and its colors were cold and muted greens that bled almost seamlessly into each other.

 

"If you don't like it that's alright dear. I just wanted you to feel at home foryour first yule here with us. You don't have to wear it.."

 

Draco looked down at the sweater still tightly clutched in his hands.

' _ Oh _ …'

He could never wear this thing at school. It couldn't even see the inside of the Malfoy manor or it would be set on fire and he'd be lucky to only receive angry vitriol from his father as punishment.

Then again, the second Lucius found out he'd been  _ here _ , yelling and burning the sweater would be the least of his concerns. And he would find out, his father somehow always did, like he had eyes everywhere.

So he swallowed the fear back down his throat. He might as well enjoy all of this holiday, he was screwed either way.

Draco pulled the bottom hem open and dragged the sweater down over his head and chest til it rested just bove his hip. It was fairly big, but he was a lanky person and even being large on him, he felt such warmth, none of the chilly winter air penetrated its knit.

 

"Thanks a lot Mrs. Weasley. I like it." 

 

"It looks wonderful! Oh but it is a bit big isn't it? You're as bad as Harry! You scrawny boys.." she clicked her tongue. "You need to eat more!"

 

A laugh rose over the conversation and just as if he had been summoned, there stood Harry sporting his own knit sweater, maroons and reds with dark dark blood orange and a golden 'H' on the front.

 

"Careful Draco, she'll make you eat til you can barely walk and then make you take prepacked leftovers back to school with you."

 

Draco smirked and shook his head. As if his own mother didn't try the same. Though he did reckon Narcissa wasn't as stubborn and demanding like Molly. He wouldn't be mad over bringing food back though. He enjoyed the meals at Hogwarts but they still lacked that 'at home' feeling.. and it was lonely some days.

 

The two boys exchanged glances completed with cocky grins and Draco finally moved away from Molly to join Harry hovering near the doorway. 

 

"That sweater suits you, Draco. I think she tried to go with House colors for the two of us. Especially with yours. I watched her make the ones for her family over summer, she just puts similar colors in them normally. Just sort of.. lets the material and its color scheme bleed into one another. Last year mine had some oranges and deep brown. Made me think of autumn- my favorite season."

 

Draco cocked a brow at him. He'd first thought that he was imagining the colorful sweater to be his House colors. Looking down at his chest he wondered how Potter had figured it out first.

More than that though, he had no idea what season the Gryffindor boy enjoyed the most and while the revelation surprised him and yet, Draco had a good idea of why he liked the autumn.. new school terms began then and it was time to leave troubles of home behind for a while.

Once again the pale boy had to think of how similar they were. 

 

He swallowed the lump in his throat and shook his head. 

"And she does this every year?"

 

"Pretty much, yeah. Unless she can't really afford to."

 

Draco failed to stupor the frown that graced his expression. He  _ had _ at times noticed the years where the sweaters the Weasleys adorned themselves in were tattered or torn and frayed from wear. There were holidays where she couldn't give her children  _ anything _ ? His own mother would at least send sweets and a letter if they couldn't be together.

His eyes lowered to the sweater he was sporting. 

"I'm glad she could do it this year."

 

Harry smiled and put an arm around him. For once he didn't reject the contact.

"Me too." He said, letting out a gentle sigh. 

Draco noted how it still smelt lie the cinnamon bunny they'd each gotten on the train.

Why did he remember such a mundane detail? 

' _ Well it  _ _ was _ _ a fun memory, right _ ?'

Again he shook his head, this time catching the odd scent of Harry's shampoo.It almost smelled of fire, wild and untamed. It suited him quite well, considering.

' _ Why do I care _ ?!  _ Get a damn grip!! _ '

 

"You alright?"

"Oh um.. yeah, just hungry is all."

 

"Hungry? Who's talkin about me in here?" Ron's voice floated in from the front entryway area just moments before the redhead himself appeared. He, too, was wearing the sweater from his mother. His was a series of blues and dark greys with white threading making up the 'R' on the front.

 

Mrs. Weasley finally turned away from the family photos and came back from being lost in the past with a light hearted laugh.

 

"Ronald Weasley, you are  _ always _ hungry. Come on then, everyone's arrived so let's get to dinner."

 

Molly lead the trio through another room and out into another- clearly the dining room by its large table and mismatched dozen or more chairs. The tableware was surprisngly all from a single set, faint blue with veins of white careening through it. They shimmered in the somewhat dim lighting, almost like crystals.

 

A large china cabinet made of dark cherry wood was in the corner, empty. He realozed quickly enough that this was Mrs. Weasley's  _ fine _ china. Most likely the only thing remotely fancy that the family owned. He wondered and hoped to be wrong, if she had decided to use it because he was there and she felt it necessary to try and be as over the top as his family always seemed to be. Frankly they were right in thinking that. His family were very much overwhelmingly obnoxious with flaunting their position of privilege and power. He cpuld remember parties he had as a child barely able to walk without tumbling. Parties that were far more than any child of any age needed, honestly.

His question unasked was answered a few seconds later when the two girls entered the room, still atwitter with conversation.

 

"Oh, you're using my favorite china this year, Mrs. Weasley!" Hermione gently hugged the plump woman and eagerly found two places for her and Ginny on the opposite side he and Harry had chose.

 

"This year Bill couldn't make it here so we sent him the other set so he could feel like he was here with all of us. Same with Percy. We split it between the both of them."

 

"I'm sorry to hear that. Hopefully they can drop in on a few birthday parties to make up for it." Hermione replied, a pitiful pout etched into her face.

 

"Oh don't you worry. They all always find their way back home sooner or later. Besides, we've got a new guest this year."

 

Draco bristled at the sudden eyes on him. He shifted from one foot to the other and planted his hands firmly on his hips. That only garnered under breath laughter from the other teenagers.

 

"Alright enough lollygagging, time to dig in everyone!"

 

A warm chaos erupted as each person took a plate in hand and began filling it with food. 

 

There were creamy whipped mashed potatoes with chive or plainly buttered, a rather large bird had been cooked and smoked to perfection and was joined with a light gravy (to which Draco helped himself with no regret). Carrots baked in butter and brown sugar sat aside mixed vegetables and cranberry sauce taunted from the end. There were a few bottles and filled mugs hovering inches above the table; the bottles were liquor free sparkling juices and water while the mugs were full of nothing other than butter beer, but he recognized two bottles in particular that were fire whiskeys. The faint cinnamon scent wafted toward him even with a cork firmly keeping it closed. It was a powerful drink if one could bear the volcanic level heat while it was going down. Thus far, Draco had had three tries at drinking the damned stuff.

 

Everyone took a seat at the table, crowding around one another until there was barely an enpty space amongst them all. 

At some point Mr. Weasley flicked his wand and an old phonograph coughed to life and gentle orchestral music began to pour out of it.

 

Draco ate his food quietly, but with fervor. He wasn't sure if the food really was as delicious as he thought or if he was finding it better because it- and the entire visit- brought warmth into his chest. It settled in there and reninded him that he still had heart despite trying so hard to throw it away. That warmth also stung him with a dose of melancholy as he thought of his own mother and the dinners they had together. His father rarely joined then and the two of them simply accepted it and continued together.

He wondered what she was doing now.

 

"Draco are you feeling well? You look deep in thought worrying about something… or  _ someone _ ?"

Mrs. Weasley's voice was calm and gentle but with it came a look from her; a look of knowing, understanding, caring.

 

Draco looked away and stared hard at his nearly empty plate. For a few minutes it was quiet in the house aside from the clinks of utensils against china. But Draco couldn't stand the quiet, it just left him to think about his mother even more and the little hole in his heart was tearing open and growing in him.

He cleared his throat and forced himself to look back over at Mrs. Weasley.

"Mrs. Weasley, would it be alright to borrow an owl and send a message to someone?"

 

"Of course, my dear. Harry would you..?"

 

"Oh, yeah, sure." 

 

The two pushed their chairs back and stood almost in unison. Draco fell into stride behind Harry as they left the others behind and made their way outside.

 

"Tell you what, Draco. You can send Hedwig. She's fast as the wind. She'll get your message to whoever it is and be back with any reply come morning."

 

Draco bit back his surprise and masked it with skepticism. "What do you want in return?"

 

"I just need you to promise me that you're not sending her anywhere dangerous. Hedwig means a lot to me."

 

That was all? He expected something more sinister. It was foolish, he knew. Harry wasn't like the snakes he spent most of his life with. Rarely did he have an ulterior motive for the things he did or said. He was quite blunt about things- typical of a Gryffindor.

 

"I promise." He answered, then after a bit of hesitation, "I'm writing home. To my mother."

 

Harry simply stared for a moment. He seemed to be searching for the right words but gave up and awkwardly fumbled out. "You miss her, huh?"

 

Draco looked around at the empty and quiet grassland that surrounded them, as if he thought someone may be there listening. The  he gave a nod.

"I just want to make sure she's okay."

 

Harry's expression shifted from awkward and uncertain to that of confusion and then concern.

"Why wouldn't she be okay? Isn't she at home with your father?"

 

"...... That… That's why."

 

As soon as he'd said it, Draco felt the horrifying dread soak through him. It was like he imagined drowning to be. The frigid cold fear filled his lungs and snuffed out the little air inside. He was powerless aginst it and could only stand there and stare into endless night. Even though Harry was right there he felt isolated, alone. After all, there had always been people looking, watching, as it happened his entire life and none of them ever helped.  _ Why wouldn't they help? He was just a kid! _

 

The soft velvet of parchment grazed his cheek just before the searing heat of skin to skin contact dissolved all remnants of the crisp night air, two arms wound around his shoulders and he found himself staring into Harry's eyes and suddenly he felt the ground underfoot solidify. He felt grounded, back in reality and out of his head. He swallowed hard, his throat felt so dry, like he'd been screaming for hours.

 

"Family isn't just the people we share blood with, Draco."

 

He violently turned his face away and slammed his lids closed. He couldn't allow some desperate shred of hope hold even a tiny part of his thoughts. All that ever happened was the horror of despair qhen that new hope was snuffed out. No, he'd rather endure the pain of drowning from his mind down than ever again feel the void chew his heart apart. He couldn't bear to feel it nor  _ see _ it and he knew he would with  _ her _ .

 

Most of the time he actually believed she was the only reason he felt anything at all.

 

"I said something wrong didn't I?"

 

Draco shook his head. "You don't understand, Harry."

 

The arms around him drew back and the heat slipped away with them. He shivered and looked to Harry only to find him rolling up his sleeves.

 

As the cotton drew up his bone thin arms, Harry unveiled rows of both thick and thin, straight and jagged lines peppering his skin from the elbow up. Both his inner arms and the backs of them held tiny slits and closest to his shoulder the opaque flaws turned brownish and then red, very raw and fresh damage to the flesh. Two had band aids covering them, though they were plastered on quite hastily and weren't likely to keep much dirt out of the wounds.

 

"I promise you I understand, Draco." He whispered. "The lse here.. they are for every time  _ he _ put his hands on me. The… other ones all represent the nights where I felt like he was never going to stop. The nights where I thought he was going to kill me. Sometimes I hoped he wouldn't hold back. Those marks I'm most ashamed of.." 

He rolled his sleeves back down and covered the marks once more. "So please don't feel like you're lost or alone. You've always got a place with us."

 

Beneath the cotton of his sweater Draco swore he could feel the inked snake curl around the skull on his own skin. A mark that meant far crueller and darker things than the scars of a survivor like Harry. Draco's mark was that of evil. He felt his spine tingle and for a moment he decided was brief lunacy, thought he heard the scaled beast hissing.  _ But it wasn't hissing at him _ .

 

"Draco?"

 

He blinked. He'd completely zoned out for a minute, leaving Harry as he stared off into the dark night.

 

"Thank you." He mumbled, all too aware of the tears in his eyes. "Think I'll write that letter now."

 

Harry gave a breathy laugh and handed him a rolled up piece of parchment and old quill and ink bottle. 

"I'll give you some privacy."

 

"No don't!" The words were out with no walls to stop it from transforming from thought to tongue. He flushed maroon and turned away. "Please just..   please stay."


End file.
